


Teamwork

by GatewayGirl



Series: Snakes and Lions universe [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alliances, Dark Arts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Inter-House Friendships, M/M, Potions, Pureblood Society, Relationship(s), Second War with Voldemort, Secrets, Trans Character, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-03-29
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 304,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatewayGirl/pseuds/GatewayGirl
Summary: What could Gryffindor and Slytherin do if two popular seventh-years got them to work together? A lot, Harry and Draco think. Now if only they can convince Slytherin that Voldemort is an idiot, and Gryffindor that not every problem needs to be approached head on....





	1. Not enough

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Violence, Dark Arts, drinking (less than S &L), gender issues, and other such things.  
> Sexual content is all Harry and Draco, who are both adults by Wizarding law (17) fairly early on, and is occasionally explicit.  
>  **Canon-Compliancy:** Through _Goblet of Fire_ only -- This is the sequel to the extended version of Snakes and Lions, which I wrote in 2003. I've brought in some bits of later backstory where they worked with that, while ignoring others.

Not Enough

 

Harry had only been back at the Dursley's for four days, and he was already sick of it. Dudley seemed to become stupider and more belligerent every summer. This year, school had managed to take a bit of weight off him, but that only made him a slightly more dangerous fighter, because it now took him a minute or two to run out of breath. He was still wide enough to trap Harry in the hall. Harry avoided him as much as possible, dodged when necessary, and reminded himself that he would be able to use magic at the end of the month. 

"I told you, I don't know who you're talking about!" 

Uncle Vernon's bellow brought Harry out of his reverie, and he darted to the top of the stairs to look though the railing supports to the front door. Professor Lupin was standing there, dressed quite competently as a Muggle, with Snuffles on a lead. The dog surged forward as he spotted Harry. 

"Snuffles!" Remus scolded, after recovering his balance. "Behave." 

"Get that filthy _animal_ off my property!

Harry came down the stairs. "Hi, Professor Lupin!" he said brightly.  

 _"Professor?"_ Uncle Vernon roared.

"Now, Harry!" Lupin reproved, removing one hand from the lead to wag a finger playfully at Harry. "I haven't been a professor in years. You know --" 

Sirius, taking advantage of his handler's laxity, launched himself at Harry, who staggered back against the hall table from the weight of the dog's paws on his shoulders. 

"Yes, Snuffles, I'm happy to see you too. Now get _down._ " 

The dog sat, tongue lolling out happily. Uncle Vernon was ranting at Lupin about not being able to keep his mongrel under control, and ordering him off the property without giving him space to leave. Finally, Lupin gave up on his spurts of words abating and turned away from him. He tugged on the lead. "Come along, Harry."

"Harry is not going anywhere with some vagabond who waltzes in off the street --"

"His godfather sent me." Lupin smiled thinly as Vernon fell completely silent. "And he _will_ come with me." 

 

Harry was laughing as they climbed into a waiting car -- an old grey banger whose mere presence must have given Uncle Vernon fits. Lupin, to his surprise, climbed into the driver's seat. 

"Get in," he said cheerily. "Don't worry about the lack of belts; it has less confining safety features." 

As they turned the corner, the dog changed to a man, who grinned back at Harry. 

"Just say 'charms,' Moony."

"Not when he has the door open!" 

Harry laughed. "I knew what he meant, Sirius." 

They drove along an assortment of roads, through a day that Harry had suddenly noticed was sunny and fresh. He sat in the center of the back seat, and leaned forward to talk between them. 

"This car is perfect! Uncle Vernon must have hated it!" 

Remus laughed. He seemed to be in one of his careless moods today. "He wasn't terribly pleased with my dog either," he said. "Especially when he got loose." 

"A pity I didn't have time to chew on anything," Sirius volunteered, and they all laughed. 

"I take it you don't hate me, then?" Harry said hopefully, as Remus pulled into a parking space alongside a high wall.

Sirius and Remus glanced at each other. 

"Of course not, Harry--"

"However," Remus continued for Sirius, but in a much firmer tone, "we _do_ need to talk." 

His wand was out, but rather than casting a privacy spell, it shot out a net of bluish light at Sirius. The man's features wavered, and became rounder and more open, and his black curls shrunk back towards his skull and turned blond. Harry stared. 

"How did--" 

"It's a glamour, Harry," the stranger who was Sirius said. "There are ways to undo it, but someone would have to try. We should be safe enough for a couple of hours." 

Harry nodded, but Remus looked back at him with a soft, speculative sound. Finally, his turned his wand on Harry. "You too," he said. 

Harry felt a wash of disorientation, but it was nothing like the discomfort of a portkey. "Um ... okay?" he tried, as the world steadied.

The man who was Sirius shook his head. " _No._ I'm not going to know what any of his expressions _mean._ Can't we just take him back to our place, Moony?" 

Remus frowned. "No. Too likely--" 

"The Shrieking Shack?" Harry suggested. Remus grimaced, but Sirius laughed. 

"That's what it always comes to, isn't it?"

Remus had to smile at that, even if it was a bit ragged at the edges. "So it does. Hm. Or perhaps our place via the Shrieking Shack. Can you take three Side-Along Apparations, Harry? I'd like to muddy our tracks a bit." 

"Sure." 

Harry wouldn't have refused for the world, but afterwards, he thought it was just as well that he hadn't known what he was agreeing to. Remus seized his arm, and after a moment of horrible pressure, they were all three sprawled on the floor of the ramshackle house. As soon as Harry stood, Remus took his arm again, and Harry found himself in a dirty alley, stumbling in the dirty rain. When Sirius grabbed him, Harry thought it was just to keep him from falling, but then he was being compressed again, and then he was in the front garden of a tiny stone cottage.

"Switching the apparator slows tracking," Sirius volunteered, with a grin. "Remus will lay a trail that would make a fox green with envy, and then he'll join us." He led the way in the door, ducking to clear the lintel, and into a little room. 

Even with the bright sunshine outside, the room was dark, but Sirius, with a flick of his wand, set a cheery fire burning in the grate, and hung a kettle over the flames. With a little more concentration, he removed their disguises. "Welcome to The Den -- Darkmoon Den, if you ever need to Floo call. It's an old croft from before the Clearances, but we've expanded on it a bit -- mostly underground, where it doesn't show. Three rooms, and the outhouse is quite cushy. Would you like some milk? Only hours from the cow!"

Harry found that a bit strange to contemplate, but he nodded, and soon found himself with a glass of milk that tasted like the milk at Hogwarts or the Burrow -- good, but not at all like milk at the Dursley's. He looked up and found Sirius drinking some as well. 

"Do wizards _do_ something to milk?"

Sirius shrugged. "Preservative spells, sometimes, but not on this, because we get it fresh each morning. Muggles _cook_ it, though, from what Remus says."

"So this is what it tastes like really?"

"I suppose it does!" 

At that moment, the kettle began to whistle, and Remus, as if summoned by the sound, popped into the space outside the window. "Ah, good," he said, as he walked in the door. "You started tea." 

When the tea was brewed, and cups of it had taken the place of the glasses, Remus sat, and Harry's nervousness returned full force. It was cozy and pleasant to be with the two of them, but they still hadn't said anything of import. In the time he'd had alone with Sirius, they had talked about _milk,_ for heaven's sake!

"Er, so...." Sirius began.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Um... where do you want to start?" 

"Well, first...." Sirius looked rather lost. "Er, you thought I might be upset that you kissed a boy?" 

"Oh." Harry felt his face heating. "Well, I didn't realize, then, that the wizard-raised students weren't as bothered by it, mostly, and--" His voice caught. 

Remus shifted his teacup and cleared his throat slightly. When Harry looked at him, he raised his eyebrows and smiled mischievously at him. "I gather we haven't been _too_ obvious as a couple, then?" 

"Wha--?" Harry's jaw dropped. He looked over at Sirius who was changing from rolling his eyes to laughing. 

"Remus!" he choked.

"What?" Remus asked innocently. "Might as well just get it out there." 

"You're, um ...." Harry scrambled for a word. "... involved?" 

"Since about your age," Sirius said, and at Remus's huff, added airily, "with a few minor interruptions, of course." 

"But..." Harry stared at them in turn. He'd known they were close, of course; that had been obvious from the start. _But lovers?_ "Why didn't you come here right away, then? Once you escaped?"

They both looked unhappy at that. 

"Well," Sirius offered, "this was a place the Aurors would look, right?" 

"We'd been living together when Sirius first went to Azkaban," Remus explained. "I was raided rather regularly. After I left Hogwarts and returned here, when it was known that Sirius Black had eluded capture near my location...." He raised his arms in a helpless shrug. "Well. I think it was six times in the first month." He took a sip of his tea. "It died down eventually."

Sirius cleared his throat. "Also, though ... well, I wasn't sure I'd be welcome."

Harry looked at them wildly. "Why not?" 

"Well, I had ... _lied_ to him." 

Remus reached out a hand over the table, and Sirius took it in a tight hold. Remus nodded. "He had. And it was painful in a way that darkened a significant portion of my life. However...." He shrugged. "I understand what he was trying to accomplish. I was certainly _angry,_ but it was not difficult to forgive." 

"But when I didn't come by...." 

"I decided he wasn't interested in revisiting that relationship." 

Sirius grinned. "Fortunately, old Dumbledore eventually stuck his nose into it."

With a reproving look, Remus tsked. "Fortunately, Professor Dumbledore _did_ place us back into daily contact. Without that, I might have spent the rest of my life assuming he was no longer interested, now that I was no longer an attractive young man--"

"Because I'm so untouched by the years!" Sirius exclaimed, winking at Harry. 

"-- _or_ that Azkaban had deadened too much of his feeling." 

"Because I'm so calm."

Remus smiled. "His positive feelings, then." 

Listening to them together, Harry wasn't sure how he'd missed their connection. Of course.... "I haven't seen much of you together." 

Remus nodded. "Understood. I was actually less surprised than Sirius was that you didn't know." 

"It was a bit upsetting," Sirius confessed, "but only in the sense of making it obvious how little we know each other." At Harry's quick nod, Sirius reached across to set a hand briefly on his shoulder. "We'll have to work on that," he said sincerely.

"As much as is possible while you are a fugitive," Remus amended. "Which may not be much. We can't risk this often, Harry." 

"However, we've intelligence that there's a big Death Eater meeting going on ri--" 

"Enough!" Remus said sharply. "The letter." 

Sirius sent him a look that promised argument later, but he did refocus. "The letter. Yes. You said there were ... other things that might upset me?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Yeah," he admitted. His tea had gone cold, and he topped it up to warm it. "Um ... can we start with the one I think you shouldn't be angry about? I mean, you probably will be, but you _shouldn't._ " 

Sirius and Remus shared another one of those looks. 

"Yes, Harry?" Remus prompted. Harry clenched his fingers around the handle of the teacup. 

"He's a Slytherin. The other boy, I mean."

Again, that look. 

"Malfoy," Sirius said darkly, but he didn't seem surprised. 

"Mm. We'd discussed that, and thought him a likely candidate." 

"You can't trust him, Harry!" 

Harry shrugged. "Well, I do, actually." 

"He's a Malfoy!" 

"Yeah, but...." Harry tried to rein in the threads of wild magic that he could feel coalescing around him. "He's _left._ He's going to testify against his father." 

"Then he thinks you're a better bet, that's all that means."

"Sirius! His father -- Lucius -- is trying to disinherit him! He's risking a lot more than he's comfortable with, and he's worked with Hermione, and he _saved_ my _life!_ "

"Did he?" Remus asked, as if it was light gossip.

"When I flew off to fight Bellatrix, he didn't need to follow me! Slytherins aren't expected to do things like that!"

"Ah." 

Sirius had sat back, brow creased in puzzlement, but Remus nodded and poured more tea. "He loves you, then."

"Slytherins don't fall in love, Moony."

"On the contrary," Remus countered evenly. " _Everyone_ falls in love. A Slytherin, however, would _need_ to be in order to do something so selfless." He looked over at Sirius. "Come _on,_ Padfoot. You have to have a touch of sympathy for a young man who's trying to gain some independence from his vile family."

Sirius grimaced. "Enough of that." He turned to Harry. "You're clearly arse over teakettle for the Malfoy boy, and we're not likely to change your mind until the hormones subside. So, what else?"

"Okay." Carefully, Harry let go of the teacup. That was as good as he was likely to get about Draco, and better than he'd expected. "I've ... I've studied a bit-- a few spells -- well, one, mainly -- of Dark Arts."

"WHAT!"

"Not from Draco," Harry added quickly. "Draco was shocked. It was on my own." Snape wasn't something he felt required to confess to, especially with his godfather already upset.

"Oh dear," Remus said. "Well. _Which,_ if you will tell us? And does Dumbledore know?"

"He knows," Harry said quietly. "I, uh, told him. I'd been practicing on snakes -- thinking of Nagini -- and I used the Imperius curse on the dragon, the one Bellatrix was riding." 

"Harry," Remus said softly. 

"Sorry." 

"You damn well should be!" Sirius exclaimed. "There'll be no more of that, now, understand me? Your dad would be horrified -- his own son using Unforgiveables!" 

"Sorry," Harry repeated. "I won't again -- unless it _is_ Nagini, and I need to. I wouldn't on a person." 

Sirius sat back with a huff, half-mollified. "You shouldn't at all," he said, but less angrily, now. 

Harry nodded, but didn't promise anything. 

"Very well," Remus said, still sounding greatly displeased. "Is that all you have to tell us?" 

"Yeah." Harry looked up and smiled tentatively. "Enough, isn't it?"

"Quite. However...." He let Harry sweat for a few breaths before continuing. "There is another issue that Albus did see fit to inform your godfather about ... some matter of showing up drunk to Professor McGonagall's office?"

"Eh, Moony!" Sirius tried to wave that off, but Remus was having none of it. 

"Harry?" 

"Professor Dumbledore gave me _points_ for it," Harry exclaimed angrily. "For Bellatrix. I was trying to lose them as fast as possible, and she'd been so angry before--" He looked away. There was silence. 

Lightly, Remus cleared his throat. "Well. That's a better reason than I had expected." 

"I'm all right, okay? Really." 

"I hear you." Remus did not agree, he noticed. "However, it is your godfather's job to worry about these things, and if he won't, I'll do it for him." 

Harry, amused despite himself, turned. "I hear you," he repeated back. "After all, that's what partners are for, right?" 

"Of course," Remus agreed. Sirius smirked. 

"Among other things."

 

When Harry got home, he was not surprised to have Uncle Vernon glower at him as he came through the door. 

"Have a good visit, boy?" he asked, managing to make the question vaguely threatening. 

"Brilliant," Harry said. "Saw my godfather and everything." 

Uncle Vernon's eyes narrowed. "Why don't you go live with him, hm?" he asked shrewdly. "If he's your guardian, you shouldn't be sopping off us." 

"Yeah, but he's a _fugitive_ ," Harry reminded him. "So he's not my guardian, although he should've been. And his partner is a werewolf, and they're--." 

"That's ENOUGH!" 

Harry tried not to smirk at the predictable bellow. "Okay. I'll just go up to my room then, right?"

With a disgusted expression, Uncle Vernon motioned him at the stairs. "And stay there!" he called, when Harry was half-way up the stairs. "You're not getting dinner tonight!" 

Harry kept going. He had a greasy pork pie and an apple balancing his jacket pockets, and he didn't want to risk his uncle seeing his smile. 

 

When he got to his room, he found a barn owl sitting on the far side of the room from Hedwig, who was sitting puffed out atop her cage. He immediately called for Susara. Although he'd never heard of a messenger owl attacking a pet, he couldn't keep from worrying about it. 

" _Here, master_ ," she hissed sleepily, and then, belatedly, raised her head. " _You are happy?_ "

" _Yes_ ," he confirmed. " _Happy._ "

While she was waking, in her slow snake way, he crossed to the strange owl. Immediately, he recognized the writing on the letter -- it was from Draco! The owl shifted impatiently from foot to foot while he got it a treat, and then flew off clutching it, still untasted, in his talons, apparently unwilling to eat under the glare of a territorial snowy owl. 

"Sorry about being gone so long, Hedwig," Harry said soothingly, although he wasn't really. He gave her a treat, too, and then sat down with the letter. 

_Dear Harry,_

_Hogwarts is dull without any other students here, and especially without you. We could have such fun if you were here! Like over the winter holidays, but better, because now it's light all the time, and warm some days. I was lying in the grove by the lake, this morning, in a patch of sun, dreaming about making love to you there._

_This is the first time I've ever wanted summer to be over as soon as it began. I spend my mornings alone, and in the afternoons, I help Snape or visit with the quiris. Horsyr is leaving soon, and I dread losing them. I've been spying on the staff and wheedling Snape, but I haven't found out a thing about the new Defense professor. I'm not entirely sure that Dumbledore has found one. At least the mystery provides me with some diversion._

_Let me know about life with your least-favorite Muggles!_

_Love,_

_Draco_

  


Harry smiled at the memories of December, but his breath caught at the thought of lying in the sun with Draco, slowly baring his pale skin to the golden light. He'd never be able to write anything that sexy, he was certain; he hoped Draco didn't expect it. Still, he fetched parchment and a quill immediately and began to write. 

  


_Dear Draco,_

_The Dursleys are as horrible as ever, but today was brilliant. Professor Lupin showed up and bullied Uncle Vernon into letting me leave with him. It turns out I needn't have worried about S. disapproving of me having a boyfriend; the two of them were together from sometime their sixth year until ~~S. went to~~ my parents died. I can tell you more about it when I see you -- it isn't really suitable for a letter. _

That really was as detailed as he could get, he thought. It would be too dangerous to let on that he had seen Sirius, or that Lupin and Sirius were still involved. 

_It's been the one bright spot so far. Dudley still thinks I'm a punching bag. Fortunately, he's easy to outrun. Even if I were ~~at the Burrow~~ someplace fun, though, I'd still miss you. _

_~~The grove sounds~~ I'd like to be in the grove with you._

_Love,_

_Harry_

  


As Hedwig carried the letter off into the fading light, Harry reflected that he still hadn't written to Ron, or Ron to him. He was unwilling to be first, though of course, Ron probably was too. He'd give it until his birthday, he decided, and he emptied his pockets, and lay down on his bed to picture the grove by the lake. 

 


	2. Independence

 

Harry distributed the sausages he had just cooked to the plates on the breakfast table, and then returned the pan to the kitchen. When he got back, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were enthusiastically talking about taking Dudley to a boxing match. Dudley was replying to their questions in short grunts. 

Eventually, Harry's aunt and uncle ran out of effusive things to say, and a silence descended. Harry swallowed his last bite of toast and cleared his throat. 

"I'll be leaving for London in a few days," he commented, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "On Saturday. I might be gone for a bit." 

"London!" Uncle Vernon snarled. "And how do you expect to be getting there?"

"There's a bus I can call," Harry said. "The bus for my sort." 

"You are not going anywhere!" Vernon fumed. "Those ... _freaks_ can threaten us all they like – trips are an indulgence that you are not entitled to take."

"I have a court summons," Harry said flatly. "I think defying it would cause trouble for all of us." With satisfaction, he watched Uncle Vernon's face pale. "If the Mag-- the people who enforce these things showed up, and I said you wouldn't permit me to go...." He let the sentence trail off ominously. 

Uncle Vernon attempted a sneer. "Ended up in court, did you? What did you do?"

Harry bristled. "I'm not the defendant. I'm a witness for the prosecution." 

"One of your friends get caught?" Dudley taunted. 

Harry had a brief surge of anger, which he suppressed with the thought that it was a wonder none of Dudley's friends had yet ended up in court. Harry found himself pushing down the impulse to say "my boyfriend's father." _The backlash wouldn't really be worth the minute or two of entertainment,_ he thought.

"A man named Lucius Malfoy." Unable to resist hinting, he added, "His son and I are quite close."

"But you're testifying against him anyway," his uncle said darkly. 

"So's Draco -- his son. Lucius is real homicidal bastard," Harry said. "Perhaps you'll get lucky, and he'll have one of his mates off me," he continued gleefully. "It's more _your_ sort he usually likes to kill, though." 

There was something perversely satisfying about terrifying the Dursleys. 

 

Harry took the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron, persuading Stan and Ernie, through combined gratuities and flattery, to let him leave it with his invisibility cloak on. Stan actually held the door to the pub open, allowing Harry to haul his trunk inside. Harry left the unwieldy burden by the door and slipped into the warm front room. He was struck, suddenly, by the memory of when he was thirteen, and he had lived here for two marvelous weeks. It wouldn't be the same now, of course. That was before Voldemort had regained his body, and even with the supposed threat of Sirius Black, escaped convict, he had been free to roam Diagon Alley as he pleased. Now, even if no one was telling him it was too dangerous, he would be aware of how dangerous it had become. The smell of beer washed over him, and incongruously, he found himself longing for tomorrow's breakfast, when the crowd would be thin, and that scent stale and bitter and comfortable. 

Tom was behind the bar. When he stepped back into the kitchen, Harry followed. Once out of view of the patrons, he lowered the hood of his cloak. 

"Tom?" he called softly. 

Tom turned his head and dropped the bowl he had been about to fill with stew. It clattered on the countertop, but did not break. He was no taller than Harry, now.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I didn't want all of that lot to see me arriving."

"Understood, Mr. Potter! My pleasure!" Tom looked uncertainly at Harry's head, which Harry belatedly realized must appear to be floating in mid air. Harry set a hand to his hip, parting the cloak a bit, so he would have at least a column of his body showing. Tom seemed set at ease by this. "I should show you the Floo for private arrivals, sir."

"But I didn't come by Floo. My guardians are Muggles, you know." 

Tom perked up. "You should have them put on the network! It can be approved for family, and it would make it easier for you to visit them." 

Harry grimaced. "Why would I ever want to visit the Dursleys?"

Tom looked taken aback, and Harry tried sound calmer. "Look, remember the last time I'd stayed here? After I'd blown up my aunt? I have better control of my magic now, but we don't _like_ each other any more than we did then. After I turn seventeen, I don't expect we'll ever talk, never mind visit. Besides, they hate magic, and they wouldn't _allow_ a Floo connection even if they had a fireplace, which they don't. _"_

"Ah." Tom scratched his head, as if uncertain how to fit this information into his concept of Harry Potter -- or, Harry realized belatedly, he might just be wondering how a household managed without a fire.

"My trunk is in the hall," Harry told him, eager to change the subject. "Shall I get it?"

Tom waved a hand in dismissal. "I'll have it sent up. Close up that cloak, Mr. Potter, and I'll show you to your room."

"Thank you," Harry said, and covered himself once again. 

Tom brought him into a good-sized, pleasant room, with a window overlooking Diagon Alley. Harry wondered how that worked. 

"Now, this is our protected hallway," Tom told him. "Dumbledore requested it for you, but I would have known, I wager, the times being what they are! Remember to carry your key, or you'll run afoul of the Confundus hex on the stairway. If you want anything brought up, the slate on the door copies to the kitchen, but I don't have extra servers, so you may need to wait." He nodded formally. "Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Potter?" 

"Do you ... Will you take a message to another guest? Confidentially?" 

"I will that," Tom said confidently, accepting the coin Harry passed him with good cheer. 

"If Draco Malfoy is here, please tell him that I have arrived, and would like to have dinner with him, if possible." 

"Draco Malfoy!" Tom looked shocked. 

"The son of one of the defendants? In my class at Hogwarts?"

"But you...!" Tom stopped himself. "Of course, Mr. Potter. I'll let him know straight away." 

"Thank you." 

Tom, rather than leaving, looked hesitantly at Harry. 

"What?" Harry asked. 

"Professor Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley both asked to be informed when you arrived. Do you wish to see them as well?"

Harry was surprised to find himself annoyed. He wanted a bath, he wanted to walk in Diagon Alley, and he wanted some pleasant time with Draco. 

"Could you put it off till morning, Tom?" he pleaded. "Professor Dumbledore will have more elaborate schemes than Draco, and Mrs. Weasley --" He stopped. "Don't tell her at all," he said decisively. "It's none of her business where I am."

Tom looked uneasy. "I don't need to tell Mrs. Weasley, of course, but Professor Dumbledore reserved your room."

"He's not paying for it, though."

"Isn't he?"

"No. Even if he planned to, no. I won't have it." _Especially as you'll take that as giving him authority._

"Still, he may wish to know you've arrived safely." 

"I don't expect you to lie if he asks."

"But I did promise...."

And there was the problem, of course. Harry sighed. "Then tell him I'll meet him for breakfast or lunch, no earlier than ten. _Not_ tonight."

Tom nodded, relieved. "Very good, Mr. Potter. And I will enquire with Mr. Malfoy first."

 

Before Harry had finished unpacking, a knock came at his door. Anxiously wondering if it would be Draco or Dumbledore, he opened it, only to find Tom had returned. 

"Oh, hello, Tom."

"Mr. Potter." Tom nodded, rather distantly, Harry thought. "Mr. Malfoy says he should not be seen with you in public, but suggests dinner in his room, at seven."

"Not be seen...!" Harry had imagined a warmer reception than that. He frowned. "Oh, fine! Tell him I accept."

Tom nodded again. "He also asked me to tell you that he is in room fourteen, just down the hall." 

 

It wasn't fine, though. Alone once more, Harry wondered what it meant. He was a secret again? He couldn't be, really. Too many people had seen them together at school, and they must have told siblings and parents. It was a wonder it hadn't been in the _Daily Prophet_. Harry thought about that for a moment. It would be more likely to be in _Witch Weekly_ , he decided, in one of those "Rumors" sections that Lavender sometimes read aloud in the common room. And maybe it had been; without Lavender around, he wouldn't know. 

Still, what was the point in Draco trying to pretend there was nothing between them? Harry bit his lip. Perhaps Draco had agreed to break up with him in return for some favor from an ally? Or in his absence -- and Snape's presence -- he had become more dissatisfied that Harry wasn't a pureblood? Perhaps he was inviting him to his room only to tell him that he was ending it. 

Harry was tempted to run straight down to room fourteen, but he didn't want to show up smelling of the Knight Bus and the artificial scents of Petunia Dursley's air freshener. Draco valued appearances, and if Draco was going to tell him to leave, he would at least do it with regret. Instead, Harry bathed and dressed as nicely as possible, in clothes he had bought while in Hogsmeade with Draco. He chose the loose-legged black trousers, and the silk shirt that had once been red and gold, but was now green, black, and gold. Susara flowed reassuringly around his neck before disappearing under the silk to settle around his arm. When he checked the clock, it was quarter to seven already. He went back to the mirror, and tried to decide if he was ready for dinner with Draco.

 

After composing himself a final time, Harry knocked on the door. It swung open. On the far end of the room, to one side, Draco stood with his wand out.

"Come in," he said. 

The distance, after his warm letters, could mean nothing good. Harry, in the beginnings of a defensive fury, strode in and turned to shut the door. He heard Draco moving towards him. When he turned back, the blond was only a few steps away. 

"It's wonderful to see you, Harry," Draco said. His voice was uneven with emotion. Harry felt his anger turn to churning confusion.

"Is it?" he snapped. "Well you certainly had me fooled!"

"Harry?" Draco took a step closer. "Look, idiot, don't be angry --"

"You won't see me in public! You won't even open the damn door!"

"I've had death threats against me. I wanted to be sure it was you." 

"Oh." 

Draco closed the distance and put his arms around Harry. "It's wonderful to see you," he repeated soothingly. "Even better to touch you. And --"

Harry didn't let him continue. As soon as Draco had raised his face, he had moved to kiss him, and not a word was he letting out. Harry doubted Draco's tongue could produce any speech more eloquent than its eager dance in Harry's mouth. Harry pressed hard up against him, and made no objection, this time, when Draco began to shift his hips suggestively. 

Harry whined into the kiss. _Tonight,_ he decided _. I'm not holding back, tonight. And we'll see how Lucius Malfoy likes watching me comfort his son in the gallery._

_But that's public,_ noted a harsh voice in his head. _And you are only for private enjoyment._ Harry pulled away. 

"Nice to know it's mutual," Draco said cheerily. "You wouldn't believe how I've missed you! I've been protected into utter boredom at Hogwarts --"

"Better than my Muggle relatives," Harry retorted sharply. 

Draco frowned at him. "You're still angry," he accused disbelievingly.

"I'm tired of being your secret!"

"It's just for another two days," Draco wheedled. His expression was very serious, all of a sudden. Harry thought it was odd how that made him look younger. "I'm sorry I couldn't explain in advance, but it wasn't until this afternoon that the matter came up. My solicitor is certain that my father's defense team will see our relationship as something to use to their advantage. He believes they have focused some of their strategy on revealing me as your lover. If you walk into the trial and openly sit with me, they'll be disarmed, and need to modify tactics in midair."

Harry thought through the implications of this. "So, rather than revealing myself as your boyfriend to increasing circles of friends, and have the idea distribute slowly, you want me to reveal myself as your boyfriend in the middle of a media frenzy, complete with photographers?"

Draco turned pink. "Sorry."

Harry sighed. "Well, at least it will be funny." _And I'll get to watch the look on his face._

"You'll do it?"

"Better that than to have you refuse to meet me in the public room," Harry said. His tone was embarrassingly petulant. 

Draco relaxed. He caught at Harry's hand and let him to the chairs. "Once it's underway, I promise -- dinner anywhere you like. For tonight, I've ordered a good meal -- as good as this place can manage, at least -- to share in private."

"I don't care if it's a ploughman's lunch, as long as it's with you," Harry said plaintively. He sat down. When Draco tried to step away, he tugged at his hand. "You're not going anywhere."

"Can't I sit?"

"On my lap, you can."

They kissed again, for a very long time. Harry enjoyed the way Draco shifted against him, but he was careful not to respond too enthusiastically. He didn't think he'd be able to stop if they really got going.

"So, how was summer at Hogwarts?" he asked, trying to distract himself. "I've always wished I could stay."

"Boring mostly. I'd have died of loneliness, if it hadn't been for the Quiris."

Harry snorted. "Still messing about with those, are you? What a _good_ little boy! When does Horsyr leave?"

Draco ducked his head in response to Harry's sarcastic comment. "She already has." He laughed nervously. "Two of the Quiris stayed with me: Cheefi and Tuktuk." 

Harry stared. "You allowed this? It was Dumbledore's idea, I presume?"

"Horsyr's, I think. It's not permanent -- she just wasn't sure they'd be safe where she was traveling, so she only took the older two, who have more control and are easier to conceal." He bit his lip for a moment. "And she said Cheefi didn't want to leave me. I may regret it, but I had been missing them in advance, and she asked me in front of them, so of course I jumped at the chance." 

"But she'll take them before term starts."

"Maybe." Draco's brow crinkled as he looked at Harry. "What does it matter to you?"

Harry stared back. "You don't think that's a little suspicious? You're suddenly the ideal person to leave them with? Dumbledore arranged it, I'm sure. Either I break up with you, or he knows if I've been doing Dark Arts." 

Draco's astonishment hardened to anger. "And people say _I'm_ conceited. Everything is all about you, isn't it?"

"I don't know whether or not Dumbledore wants to control you. History has shown that he likes to have me loosely, but decidedly, in hand." 

"I do appreciate that it restrains me, but you! Why should you care? I thought you weren't going to do Dark Arts, anymore."

Harry looked away. "Look it's--" He wasn't sure what it was. The loss of an option? "I don't like being controlled," he decided. "And what if I need to?"

"Need to," Draco repeated.

"Draco, don't get moralistic on me! You know better. I am going to _win,_ do you understand? I kill Voldemort. I don't care if I survive it, and I don't care if my soul survives it. I _win."_ He dared a glance at Draco. He had his forehead resting on one spread hand. Harry couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut. 

"Draco," he said gently, "I'll try."

"I don't know why I care!" Draco snapped. He pushed away, getting to his feet. Harry's lap felt cold where he had been. He watched Draco take a restless step clear of him and then turn back angrily. "I've done more Dark Arts than you've _heard_ of. I can imagine situations where I wouldn't care _what_ you used, but ...."

"You understand, then. But Dumbledore won't. You know that."

"Look," Draco said. "You can still use Dark Arts without him finding out, if we arrange things correctly."

"Can I?"

"Yes. You simply aren't with the Quiris often enough for a four week gap to show -- assuming I even still have them, which I might not. _I'll_ still know, but if you convince me you need to, we can keep it from everyone else."

"I'm still being watched, I just have a more flexible guard."

"If you can't convince _me_ , what the _hell_ are you doing?" Draco protested. 

The question cut through Harry's anger. "I suppose that's a point," he admitted.

While Harry was still catching his breath, there was a knock on the door. Both of them froze. "I'll answer it," Harry volunteered. 

It was dinner. When Harry opened the door, Tom stepped in, still looking rather wary, with a laden table floating behind him. He set it down by the window. 

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked politely.

"That will do, for now," Draco answered, instantly shifting into an imperious manner. "We may want dessert or drinks later. Check back in an hour."

"Of course." Tom nodded, and backed out of the room. Harry's presence had not been acknowledged in the entire conversation. He felt curiously unreal. 

Draco let out a long breath and sent Harry a friendly smile. The whole room seemed to lighten. "There. Let's move to the table. Had we finished our argument?" 

"I suppose," Harry agreed. The food smelled delicious. Lunch had been an apple, he realized, and the table held roast beef, and thick slices of dark bread, and a dish of butter, and a jug of gravy, and mashed swedes, and a vegetable mix of green beans, yellow beans, and long slices of carrot. There was also a carafe full of garnet wine. Draco poured them both glasses of it and raised his in a toast. 

"To Now," he said firmly, and Harry echoed him and clinked his glass against Draco's. 

By unspoken agreement, they kept their conversation at light as possible, given the circumstances, although weightier matters crept in from time to time. Draco gossiped about the staff at Hogwarts and about various of his relatives, but he also related that he had exchanged several tense letters with Pansy. Harry couldn't fully appreciate the food without remarking how good it was not be given the worst pieces of everything, and he admitted that he and Ron had not been in communication at all. For all the unpleasant elements, Harry felt his anxiety melting away. Spring hadn't been some sort of hopeless fantasy; being with Draco was really that good. 

 

Harry tugged Draco a little closer to him. The room had no seating intended for two, so he had settled on a carpet on the floor with his back against the base of a stuffed chair, and Draco was sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest. Draco sighed and relaxed further into Harry's embrace, and Harry stretched forward to kiss him.

"Certain you don't want more dinner?" Draco teased.

"Completely."

"More wine?"

"We finished it." 

Draco giggled. Harry moved to tickle him, but then changed his mind. He started undoing Draco's thin shirt, instead. 

"Ah!" Draco's head tipped back. "Harry, don't tease," he pleaded.

"Who said I'm teasing?" Harry heard his own voice drop to an unfamiliar growl. "Term is over."

Draco's pale eyes widened. "Oh!" 

He twisted further, and Harry moved to take his mouth again. He felt a ferocious welling of desire that made him want to bite those bright lips, but kept his assault to a fierce pushing of mouth and tongue that made Draco whimper. 

Someone knocked at the door. Draco looked uncertainly at Harry. "Want dessert?"

"Besides you?" Harry didn't stop to consider it. Nothing was worth the time away from Draco's lips. "No. Not waiting." 

"Mr. Malfoy?" Tom called from the hallway. "Will you be wanting anything more?" 

"Not tonight, Tom," Draco called. "I'd rather not be disturbed." 

"All right, then," Tom answered. They heard him retreat down the corridor. 

"Mm," Draco said. "Where were we?" 

"On the edge of new territory."

"Ah. So we were." 

Draco got to his feet. Harry had only time for a moment's confused hurt before Draco reached a hand down to him. "Come to bed?" he asked, his voice low.

Harry followed readily. He was trembling with excitement and uncertainty, making it hard to control his movements. Draco seemed the epitome of grace as he turned back the covers and beckoned Harry to lie down. 

"Are you cold?" he asked. 

"No," Harry muttered, blushing, and Draco responded with visible delight. 

"Oh! My Harry." He reclined next to Harry and pushed him gently back to the mattress. "Lie down. I want to undress you." 

Harry didn't know when he'd lost control, but he wasn't going to argue. He wasn't entirely sure he could speak. He lay back and let Draco unbutton his shirt and cuffs, and kiss at the skin underneath, resisting only long enough to push Draco's shirt off, so he could touch Draco's pale skin with whatever hand he had free. 

"So lovely," Draco sighed, kissing along Harry's shoulder and down his arm. "Curl up a moment; I want this off."

Harry raised his torso, but couldn't help staring at Draco's soft trousers while he held that position. With the concealing drape of his shirt gone, it was obvious that Draco was hard beneath them. Harry felt a surge of panic. What if he didn't know what to do? What if he didn't like it, after all? He shook harder as he reached to touch. He had intended a caress, but it was with more a grab when his hand closed on that cloth-covered shaft. Despite that, Draco closed his eyes and arched in apparent bliss. 

"Sorry I'm so clumsy." Even his voice was shaking. 

"You're a _virgin_ ," Draco retorted. "It's _sexy_ , the way you're trembling. Be graceful for me some other day, when it makes sense."

"I ..." Was this normal? Harry wondered. Before he could decide what to say, Draco was opening his trousers and lightly returning the touch. "Draco! God." 

"Mm. Let me slide these off, right? I want to make you feel so good...."

Harry raised his hips and the last of his clothes were gone, dropped carelessly on the floor by the bed. Draco paused to remove his own as well, displaying a long, slender cock that rose hard from pale curls of hair. Harry reached for it again, but Draco knelt across his legs, taking it out of reach. 

"Get back here!" 

"Shhh." Draco kissed Harry's stomach, then lifted just his head, his hair falling straight along his face. "Patience." 

"Please?"

"Mm." Draco kissed lower, first next to Harry's cock, and then on it. "No," he said lightly. "I want to be right here." 

When his mouth closed over the head, Harry couldn't claim he disagreed.  


 


	3. Maneuvers

 

Before he was completely awake, Harry had a feeling that something was strange. Not _bad_ , he thought, just strange and perhaps pleasantly _confining,_ but that put him in mind of the Imperius Curse, and he forced himself to wake, determined to deal with whatever danger threatened. 

None did. Draco lay close against his side, creating a line of warmth, with his head resting on Harry's shoulder, and his hand on Harry's chest. The unusual sensations had probably combined into the feeling of being restrained, Harry thought contentedly. Of course, he was also naked, so it was no wonder something had seemed wrong to his sleep-fogged mind. Carefully, he stroked a hand over Draco's bright hair. Draco twitched. For a moment, his body tensed, and then it relaxed again, and he opened his eyes. In the morning sunlight, they were a soft, misty grey. 

"Hey," Harry said softly.

"Finally awake, are you?" Draco replied. 

"Finally?" Harry teased.

"Well, I woke earlier, but you didn't, so I went back to sleep." Draco yawned slightly. "We must have been up late. I can't, usually." He smiled slowly, that strange, new smile that seemed to be only for Harry. "Or maybe I've never had such a fine pillow." 

"This is great, isn't it?" Harry replied, delighted. "Well, once I'd decided I was safe." 

"Safe?" 

Laughing slightly, Harry traced up Draco's fingers, still resting on his chest, to cover them with his own. "Well, between _this_ and the nudity, before I quite woke up, I thought I was trapped."

"Oh you are," Draco said happily. 

"Am I?"

"You don't think I'm letting you _go,_ do you?"

Harry knew it was meant as flirtation, but the claim still irritated him. "Actually, I thought that was the plan. Scheduled and everything." 

"Harry!" Draco complained. "Must you bring that up? You're spoiling Now, you know." He came up on one elbow and frowned down at Harry. "Promise me you won't talk about it?" 

Harry hesitated. He _had_ spoiled the mood, he realized, but he wouldn't have if Draco hadn't reminded him. "I think I'll have to. But I promise not to talk about it again when we're lying together feeling content. Just--" 

"Just what?"

"Just don't bring it up like that, all right? No saying that you're going to keep me or going to stay. If you do that, I _think_ about it, and then _I'm_ not happy." 

"Silly, literal Gryffindor," Draco answered. "All right. I didn't mean to bring you down, you know." 

"I know." 

"Hm." Draco traced the hand on Harry's chest down his torso. "Could I bring you up?"

" _That_ should be easy." 

 

Harry stopped to change into robes before going to meet Dumbledore, but he could still smell Draco's scent on his skin, and he felt so light and warm that he thought he _must_ look different. Still, there was nothing for it but to stand across from the man and produce a flawlessly even "Good morning, Professor." 

They were in a private parlor to one side of the pub. In comparison to the public room, it was small, but still too large for only the two of them. Their places had been set at one end of a dining table intended for ten or twelve. The one high window, grey with London grime, let in little light, but a cheery fire crackled in the grate. 

Dumbledore looked up with a smile, but there was also something of evaluation in his gaze. 

"Good morning, Harry. Please have a seat." He paused. "You are looking very grown up today."

With a wry smile, Harry settled in the offered chair. "Is that a euphemism?" 

Dumbledore's evaluation sharpened. "I had not intended it that way," he mused. "Ah. Tom said you would not meet me, last night. Were you indulging other interests?" 

Well, that was certainly vague, Harry thought, and it had a tinge of disapproval that he disliked. "I was with Draco," he answered boldly. 

"I see." Dumbledore sat back. "May I remind you that you are not of age? You have a room here so that you can easily confer with other people involved with the trial, _not_ to provide you with unsupervised time with young Mr. Malfoy." 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry glared back at the headmaster. "I'll be 'of age', as you say, in less than three weeks. If you give me enough trouble, you probably _could_ keep me out of his bed this week, but there's no _point,_ unless you want to irritate both of us, and you _had_ implied that I'm here to keep him happy."

He thought he saw Dumbledore's eyes widen slightly, but then the moment passed, and the headmaster's face smoothed to placid concern. "You do not feel obliged to rush matters, I hope?"

"God, no." Harry relaxed back into his seat. If that was what Dumbledore was worried about, he would be fine. "Waiting through last term was enough."

"Did you?" Dumbledore's mouth quirked in a brief smile. "I must say, I'm somewhat surprised. Perhaps you are gaining some control over your impetuous nature, at last." He sat forward, and poured Harry a cup of tea. "Very well. If I hear no complaints as to your behavior, I will not interfere. But I do _not_ want you drinking, Harry, and I expect you to comport yourself with dignity and restraint in public. By this time tomorrow, Wizarding London will have reporters and photographers on every corner." 

"I suppose I'd better get my shopping done today, then," Harry said lightly, trying not to show his relief.

"Had you planned on shopping?"

Harry shrugged. "I'd need formal robes, I thought. I mean, if you want me on display." 

"Ah, I see." Dumbledore refreshed his own tea while he considered that. "Yes, formal robes would be best. Your school robes are not really appropriate, and Muggle clothing might enhance the mistrust of those members who will be inclined to treat Lucius Malfoy leniently." His raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Do recall, however, that I am allowed the eccentricities of my age. Your own clothing should be more sedate, as befits the solemnity of the circumstances." 

Harry smiled. Dumbledore was currently wearing purple and silver robes with silver embroidered stars all over them, and long tassels on the sleeves and collars. More sedate was a given. "I'll keep that in mind, sir." 

"Good." 

That settled, Harry took a bite of his sausage and belatedly realized that he was starving. Dumbledore let him eat for a few minutes before raising the next issue. Harry was buttering toast when the headmaster next spoke.

"Mrs. Weasley is in the area, you know. She worked at Beatrice's Bits and Bobs during the school year, and Beatrice wanted some extra help this week. She was hoping to speak to you."

Harry put down his fork. It was suddenly difficult to swallow his food. He got it down and cleared his throat with a mouthful of tea. "I am not interested in speaking to Mrs. Weasley," he said stonily.

"Harry. You can't blame her for being concerned --"

"And how _did_ she find out about that, anyway?" Harry shot back. "You'd no right to tell her. She's not family. She's not my guardian. She's not staff." 

Dumbledore sighed. "I had been of the impression that she was virtually family, Harry." 

" _No._ If she was family, I would have been at the Burrow last summer. She can't have it both ways." 

The headmaster steepled his fingers above his plate. "This grievance predates her unfortunate response in June, then," he said carefully. 

Harry held back a snapped 'yes' and tried to answer logically. " _That_ made it a grievance. Before that, it was a matter of understanding my place." He glared down at the remains of his beans. "Now, I expect her to understand hers." 

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore softly. "Very well. I will relay your feelings about the matter." 

"Fine." 

After a moment of awkward silence, the headmaster cleared his throat. "Well. That aside, I believe we should discuss the trial. We wish you to be present, Harry, and seen, but whether or not you are called will depend on the flow of the proceedings, understood?"

"Yes, sir." 

"If the defense calls you, it will be entirely in an attempt to make you look unreliable. You must keep your temper and answer questions thoughtfully and honestly."

"Really, I'm not stupid!" Harry caught himself and sighed. That was exactly the sort of response that he could not make at the trial. " _Yes,_ Professor." 

"Good. Now, is there anything you wish to ask?" 

Harry didn't know where to start. He wasn't all that sure how the Muggle courts worked, and his only sense of Wizarding trials was what he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve during his fourth year. Certainly, Dumbledore was far more qualified than he to get Lucius and his cronies thrown in prison for the rest of their lives. 

A daydream from several days ago asserted itself in his thoughts. "Do you think Pettigrew might come up, sir?" he asked hopefully. "If he's mentioned, we might be able to clear --" Despite the private room, ingrained wariness made him stop, his godfather's name unsaid.

With a discouragingly compassionate look, Dumbledore met his eyes. "I know how much you wish it, Harry, but it is unlikely."

"But maybe during questioning, someone on our side could ask who else was there. Or Snape --" 

"Any mention of Peter will damage our credibility, Harry. You must remember, he is known to be dead. Such a maneuver would increase our chances of losing the case without much hope of helping Sirius." 

That shocked Harry out of his disappointment. "Lose? How can we lose? They followed Draco to your office!" 

"You would be surprised at what Lucius Malfoy can cast in a favorable light," Dumbledore warned. "Make no assumptions. He has evaded incarceration before." 

 

Rather than returning to his room after breakfast, Harry stepped out to Diagon Alley and went straight to Madam Malkin's. The salesgirl who greeted him ran to get Madam Malkin herself, and the matron came breathlessly to meet him. 

"Good morning, Mr. Potter! What can I do for you, today? A bit early for new school robes, I expect?"

Harry nodded. "I'm a witness -- well, potential witness -- in the trial." 

Her expression grew somber. "Ah. I'd heard rumors to that effect." 

"So I need something to wear," Harry went on. "Something a bit more wizardly -- and a lot nicer -- than most of my clothes."

"Understood." She eyed him appraisingly. "Any other requirements?"

Harry sighed. "It should probably scream 'Gryffindor,'" he admitted. 

"Hm," she said. "Yet properly dignified. You do wish to be taken seriously, I expect?" 

"Oh. Yes, of course." 

They discussed parameters for a while, while Madam Malkin measured Harry. "Go and do your shopping," she urged. "In two hours, I'll have some pieces for you to try."

"Wonderful!" Harry hesitated. "Could you have something done by three?" Afraid of seeming too demanding, Harry amended that. "I mean, I don't need you to do, but I have an appointment then, and if you can, it would be useful to be able to ask if they were okay." 

Madam Malkin smiled. "We shall see. If the first fitting goes well, then yes." 

"Thank you!" Harry returned the smile as warmly as he could manage. "I appreciate that." 

 

The robes -- deep maroon trimmed in harvest gold, and cut wider over the legs than he was used to -- were ready by three. Harry threw them on over his jeans before walking down to Draco's room. The wide folds of the bottom swung with his stride, and did his best to tell himself that someone wizarding-raised would _not_ think of it as a skirt. Recalling Draco's unease the night before, he followed his knock with calling, "It's Harry." 

A man he had never met before opened the door. Harry was flexing to release his wand before he caught sight of Draco behind him. Draco did not look distressed, so Harry let his hand relax. 

"Please come in," said the stranger. Harry looked to Draco. 

"Yes, please do, Harry," Draco confirmed. "This is my solicitor, Mr. Aloysius Clark. Mr. Clark, this is Harry Potter." 

Harry shook the man's extended hand and entered the room. 

Clark nodded. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter." He ushered Harry towards a small, round table that had been set up in the space left beside the bed. "If you will forgive me speaking frankly, you seem rather more presentable than I had expected."

"I bought these robes for the trial; I just wore them down so Draco could see them." 

"Ah. They will certainly do." The solicitor's sharp eyes flicked over him like a blade, as they took their places at the table. The seating reminded Harry uncomfortably of their tea with Dumbledore in the greenhouse, but Clark couldn't have been less like the old headmaster. He was dark-haired and sharp in features and language, and dressed conservatively in charcoal robes with black trim. Nothing about him soothed or amused. 

"Have you considered something a little brighter? After all, reminding people of your past impressive deeds, and your Quidditch--"

"Enough," Draco snapped. "I have told you that I will not play up Harry as a loose cannon. Even for purely practical reasons, it would be short-sighted at best. Harry, ignore him. Those robes are perfect." He sat back from the table. "Mr. Clark," he said to Harry, "is, obviously, not involved with the trial, nor in any way working with the prosecution." That, Harry thought, was a warning. "He is, however, advising me on issues affected by my involvement." 

Harry nodded acknowledgement. He wondered if Dumbledore knew about this arrangement. Probably, as he had wanted to host all of Draco's floo calls. 

 

The meeting was less than comfortable, but at least it was short. Harry suspected that most of Draco's business had been concluded before he arrived, and he had been invited in only for display. Afterwards, he and Draco were summoned down to the parlor where he and Dumbledore had eaten breakfast. This meeting was not just with the headmaster, but included Severus Snape; a black Auror whom Harry vaguely remembered from the investigation after Mr. Weasley's death; a Wizengamot member named Amelia Bones; a pleasant Indian gentleman named Ravi Yallapragada; and other, quieter people. They used the full table, spreading out papers between empty plates, and most of the discussion went over Harry's head. He wasn't entirely sure whether Yallapragada was a barrister or another Wizengamot member, but he got the impression that Bones was the leader of a faction of the Wizengamot and keenly wanted to cement an alliance with Dumbledore. They all seemed to know the minutiae of applicable laws, though Harry couldn't imagine why they were bothering with trespassing and coercion when they had treason and attempted murder to work with. 

He sat and practiced looking attentive and well-behaved until the food arrived, at which point he gave up and ate. 

 

Afterwards, he and Draco went up the stairs together, and by silent agreement, to Harry's room. "You know," Draco said, as the door closed behind them, "if you want people to consider you to be the dumb warrior, you're doing a very good job."

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded, outraged. 

"That meeting. You weren't even trying to understand what Shacklebolt was saying." 

"Shacklebolt was the Auror, right?" 

Draco rolled his eyes. "The senior Auror. The large, black, senior Auror. The bland, slightly small, watery-eyed man in poorly cut blue pinstripe robes was also an Auror, as you might have noticed."

"Er, no." 

"I didn't think so. If you'd like them to think of you as more than a tool, you need to try a little harder."

"I couldn't understand any of that!" 

"Of course you _could_ have -- you just didn't care to try." 

"Why do we need to do all this planning and review obscure laws for charging him with? He -- they were obviously working for Voldemort! They had the masks on! And your father tried to kill you!" 

"So? He's been caught red-handed before."

"I just don't see how he could possibly get out of it." 

"Then just trust us, will you? And try to follow along when we're reviewing 'obscure laws', because they may make the difference between getting him in prison or having him free." 

"Fine!" Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry sighed. "Really. I'll try. Will you stay, tonight?" 

Draco hesitated. "I don't think I could ... _do_ anything, you know? I mean...." He gestured helplessly out at the darkness beyond the window, and Harry nodded in understanding. 

"That's okay. Just stay." Harry reached out to take his hand. "Like that night in Gryffindor," he whispered. 

 

Draco was very quiet the next morning. Harry dressed for the trial, and then escorted Draco to his room to do the same. Draco, before they went to breakfast, cast repelling charms on their clothing in case something spilled. Harry watched, fascinated, as toast crumbs bounced off the dark fabric of his robes. 

"Are you going to eat, or just dribble bits of food and admire my charm work?"

Harry looked up and put the toast down. 

"Like you're eating."

Draco gave a small, tight shrug and poked at his mutilated egg. "Can't." 

Auror Shacklebolt flooed into the parlor. He was followed by last night's junior Auror and by a cheery-looking pink-haired witch. To Harry's surprise, the witch was also wearing Auror robes. He would have expected, had he ever thought about it, that the MLE would be too conservative for hair like that. To Harry's embarrassment, she spotted his stare, flashed him a grin, and walked directly over. Harry was afraid that she would make a fuss over him, but instead, she gave Draco a brisk nod and a bright smile. 

"Hullo," she said. "I'm Auror Tonks; I'm part of the official protection for you, so I thought I should introduce myself."

"Tonks?" Draco's brow furrowed. Any relation to ..." His eyes went over her shoulder to look at nothing, and Harry could tell he was thinking furiously. "Um, Ed or Ted or something?" He shook his head in frustration, but his attention was back on her. "Sorry. I'm usually good with names, but--" 

She laughed. "But you only heard that one in whispers?" she suggested. "He's my dad. My mum is Andromeda Black." 

"Oh!" Draco stared outright for a moment, sweeping her up and down with a calculating gaze, until, recovering himself, he held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, cousin. I'm afraid I was previously unaware of your existence." His mouth quirked in a slight smile. "And it was shouts, actually, but distant ones." 

She took a step back, at first, as if she had not been expecting his response, but then, with a slight laugh, moved forward again and shook the extended hand. "Pleased to meet you also, cousin." 

That settled, she finally let her gaze drift back to Harry. 

"Hi," he said. Unsure of what to do, he held his hand out also. "Er, Harry Potter." 

"I'd guessed," Tonks said solemnly, but then giggled as they shook hands. "I'm honored." 

"Is everyone ready?" Shacklebolt called loudly. "Aurors, stations. Everyone take hold of the portkey." 

That was relatively easy, for once, as the portkey was a length of rope. Tonks positioned herself next to Draco, so he was between her and Harry. Dumbledore was near Shacklebolt at the front. Together, they went to the Ministry, arriving in an otherwise empty chamber. The walls were dark stone, and there were no windows. They gathered into a tight group, and when the door opened, Shacklebolt stepped outside. "Clear the way!" he called, and bright yellow bolts shot from his wand. A moment later, they were crossing a corridor between two barriers of light. People shouted questions to Dumbledore and Draco and Harry, but they were quickly left behind for the muted hubbub of many low voices in a large chamber. Harry decided this must be the courtroom. It looked very like the one he had seen in Dumbledore's pensieve, during his fourth year, except the center of the room now had four chairs and a wood-paneled pen to either side. The rest of the room was full of well-dressed wizards and witches, their whispers combining into a low roar as they settled on the benches that rose tier upon tier from the floor. Set apart from the others was a row of five, with their clerks clustered behind them. He recognized the wizard in the center, Valerian Cabot, from pictures in the _Daily Prophet_. The new Minister for Magic, Gilbert Ramsley, had appointed him as Special Inquisitor, within weeks of Ramsley taking over from Fudge. The post reminded Harry of Crouch, which did not incline him kindly towards Cabot. To the Special Inquisitor's right sat Minister Ramsley, and to his left, Amelia Bones. 

The pens also had tiered seating. Harry's group was led to one of them. He and Draco sat together, three rows up, and Dumbledore sat directly below them, at the floor. Harry supposed that was easier, if the headmaster expected to be called frequently. "Catch you later!" Tonks whispered in passing, and she drifted up to the top of the box, another row above them. When Harry looked up, she was standing against the back wall, scanning the room. 

"Cousin?" he asked Draco at a whisper.

"Her mother and my mother and Bellatrix were sisters. Her mother was disinherited for marrying a Muggle -- or possibly a Muggleborn wizard; I was never clear on that."

"Bellatrix _Lestrange_?"

"Nee Black, yes." 

"She was your _aunt_?" 

"Well, yes, but we'd never met. I suppose she saw me when I was a baby, but you must remember that she had spent most of my life in prison." 

_Like Sirius_ , Harry realized. _Sirius Black._ "Black? Any relation to--" _Not his sisters_ , he prayed.

"Cousins, also. First cousins, but Mother says Sirius was a bad sort -- always in trouble." Draco gave him a little wink as he spoke, and Harry suddenly felt better. "The old pureblood families are all intermarried, of course." 

"I didn't know Sirius was from an old pureblood family!" 

"You didn't?" 

Harry only just bit back a "he never told me." Horrified at nearly having revealed his contact with his godfather, he sat silent for a moment, and in that moment, Minister Ramsley rose to his feet. He gestured to a clerk, who pointed his wand at his throat and bounced quickly to his feet.

"14th July, Nineteen-ninety-seven, special meeting of the Wizengamot, Special Inquisitor Cabot presiding. The Wizengamot will now hear this case." 

It wasn't until he heard the declaration in a familiar, fussy voice that Harry realized the clerk was Percy Weasley. He had muted his hair by darkening it and wearing a hat. Harry bit his lip. Even now, when Harry was avoiding Mrs. Weasley himself, Percy's rejection of his family still raised his ire, and that he would reject them still more by changing his appearance seemed even worse. 

Indignation proved to be the only excitement of the morning. Percy had sat, and Special Inquisitor Cabot stood, bowed to the people on either side of him, and then to the assembled members of the Wizengamot, and then sat again. He gestured to another clerk, who called the defendants, one at a time, out to the chairs. Once all were seated and chained, he read out the names of their accusers. Draco was not included in the latter category. Harry wondered if that was because he had not been of age at the time of the attack, or if it was some sort of tactical maneuver. Dumbledore was included, and stood in acknowledgement, but did not need to leave the box. After him came a member of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts, and then another, and then Professor Sprout, and then Mr. Yallapragada, who turned out to be another member of the Board of Governors. When he sat, Cabot stood again and made a long statement about justice being the solemn duty of the Wizengamot, and how no one should make his or her judgment in haste. By that point, Harry guessed an hour to have passed, and "haste" was the last word he would have associated with the proceedings. 

After that, it was back to the clerk, who read one name: Dennis Avery. He followed that with a long list of charges brought against the man. Harry wasn't terribly surprised when Avery stood and declared that he was innocent. He had escaped, after all, and it was only Snape who could say that he had been among the six who had pursued Draco. Lucius Malfoy came next, and the clerk read out his name and a similar, if slightly longer, list of charges. He also, declared that he was innocent, causing Harry to twitch forward. Draco, at his side, sat ramrod straight and silent. The next defendant was Nott, who in contrast, stood and ranted for five minutes about how he had pursued the ungrateful brat, blood traitor that he was, and would do it again in a heartbeat. He eventually wound down, and Cabot cleared his throat. 

"May this body assume that you plead 'guilty' then?" he asked, and people laughed uneasily. 

"Guilty," Nott growled, and that was that. 

Talbot, on the other hand, also professed innocence. At lunchtime, Cabot called a ninety minute recess, and the witnesses found themselves dismissed. 

"I'll keep you in sight, Malfoy," Tonks assured them, "but you can go where you want." 

"Back to the Cauldron?" Harry suggested, and Draco nodded agreement. Tonks brought them to a private grate and flooed ahead. 

"We could shake her," Harry pointed out. 

"Do you think we should?"

"Not really." 

Draco nodded and tossed in powder. "The Leaky Cauldron." 

 

 

The moment Harry stepped out of the floo, he saw the Weasleys. With that much red hair in one place, it was impossible not to notice them. 

To his embarrassment, Mrs. Weasley looked up just at that moment and their eyes met. He pretended they hadn't, and walked for the stairs, although he had intended to have lunch, and ignored his name being called behind him. 

Normally he would have turned with his wand out at the sound of people jogging up to him from behind, but this time he just counted on Draco's worried glance to mean that it was nothing unexpected, and Tonks, looking casually from near the bar, to intervene if it was. Hands closed on his shoulders. 

"What's the matter, Potter?"

"Too good for us, now?

"Or have those Seeker reflexes--"

"-- finally failed?" 

Harry flushed. He hadn't thought of it that way, but he probably did look snooty to them, walking off with Draco Malfoy, and in his new formal robes, as well. 

"Look," he protested, "I've nothing against _you._ You're welcome to join us for lunch, if you want. I just don't want to deal with your _mother._ " 

Fred shook his head. "No deal, Harry." 

"You don't get to treat her like that."

"I know we're not the well-behaved sons --"

"-- but _we_ don't even treat her like that."

"Though sometimes we want to." 

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't care. I won't talk to her." 

Draco sighed. It wasn't loud, Harry thought, just very obvious. 

"What?" he demanded. 

"Nothing," Draco said airily. "Really, if you don't think she will be useful in the future, there's little point in wasting time on her." Harry felt a slow expansion of rage about to boil, but before he -- or the twins -- was quite there, Draco continued. "Of course, there's the matter of whether she was helpful in the past, but that's much more a _Gryffindor_ issue, so really, I wouldn't bother appraising it." 

"You're a prick." 

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, if anything is," Draco said nastily. "Have you even told her that you're angry at her?"

"It's not--" Harry began, but fell silent at the look Draco shared with the nearer twin. "Fine!" he snarled, and marched back to the table. 

He stopped in front of her, feeling coerced and angry, and managed a tight nod. "Mrs. Weasley." 

She stared back at him in shocked dismay, and he felt a bit ashamed. After all, even Draco thought he was behaving badly. "How are you?" he tried awkwardly.

She frowned. "Is there a reason you didn't want to stop and say hello?"

Ron snorted. "That git with him, you think?"

"Oh, honestly, Weasley!" Draco shot back contemptuously. "He wouldn't have come over here at all if I hadn't intervened." 

That was true enough, Harry realized, wincing. He tried to think of how to start this, but there didn't seem to be a good starting point. It was all a coiling fire in his mind. He forced himself to speak anyway, and let what would come out. 

"You had no right to send me a Howler." 

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley seemed almost to relax at that. She smiled a little as she shook her head. " _Someone_ has to look after you. I know that no one else will!" 

"That's NOT _true._ " Harry managed to pull himself back down from a shout at the thought that they were in a public place. He didn't want to look around to see who was staring. Auror Tonks, certainly. "I have Remus Lupin," he said fiercely, wishing he could say who else he had. "But even if I didn't, I'm _not_ one of your sons, and you can't treat me like one when it suits you." 

"Harry, love, you're practically family --" 

"I AM _NOT_." He wasn't, Harry noticed ruefully, doing too well at the 'not shouting' thing. "If I was _family,_ I would have been at the Burrow last summer."

"It wouldn't have been any fun--"

"Don't you think I _know_ that? I knew you were mourning. But I didn't get to mourn _with you_. I got stuck with people who said 'oh, that horrible man who covered our living room with plaster dust -- good riddance!'"

For a moment, even the twins were silent. 

Molly's eyes looked suspiciously wet. "Harry, it's just--"

"Just that you needed that time to be only family," he said softly. "I get that, as much as I wanted to be there. But you can't have it both ways." 

Ron cleared his throat. "It _was_ embarrassing, mum. Most people thought you were just one of those nutters who thinks he's public property, but a bunch of the other Gryffindors know your voice."

"Oh, Harry." Molly started to reach a hand out to him, and then changed her mind. She clicked her tongue nervously. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I didn't even know that I had." 

"I know," Harry answered. He felt a little better. Shyly, he sat at the end of the bench across from her. "I ... I still _like_ you, and everything, Mrs. Weasley, and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but if you act like I'm _yours_ again, I'll--" His mouth quirked into a smile. "I'll set my dog on you," he said suddenly, grinning. 

She laughed, a little raggedly, and dabbed at her eyes. "Poor dear. Did Remus really talk to you?"

"Yes. Did Professor Dumbledore ever tell you that what I was _trying_ to do was to lose a hundred house points in one afternoon?" 

"No, he didn't--." 

"Although Ron has certainly mentioned it since," George broke in. 

"Repeatedly." 

"Loudly." 

"And we agree that it was --"

"-- treasonous," they finished together.

"It was points for _Lestrange_ , and Draco faced her _with_ me, and I would have died if he hadn't, and Slytherin deserved to get just as many."

"That may be true, as far as it goes --"

"-- but how many points _from_ Gryffindor were unfair?"

"I can't fix everything. This was just _wrong_." 

"And you're a hero to the younger years for it," Draco said placidly. "Not the first years; they were naive enough to believe that as it was obviously a mistake, it would be corrected, once someone brought it up to the right person." 

Ron snorted. "True enough. The right person happened to be Harry." 

Draco's lip curled. "Yes, but they still thought it would be Professor Dumbledore." 

Harry shrugged. He couldn't blame Draco for not trusting Dumbledore. The Leaving Feast of his first year, such a wonderful surprise when he was eleven, now disturbed him when he remembered it. "At least it was a Gryffindor," he said. "That means something, I think."

"That you're _mental_ ," Fred said, and Ron agreed loudly. 

"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley reproved. She smiled at Harry, and patted his hand. "Harry is right. Fair play is more important than winning a silly award." 

"It's the House Cup, Mum!" 

Harry laughed. "Look at it this way," he said. "All my ability to play unfair, I'm saving for the war, okay? I'll cheat to put one over on Voldemort -- not on a bunch of kids who are mostly younger than me." 

"Ooo, Harry!"

"All grown up, are you?" The twins sniggered.

Ron started forward. "Mum, let's--" Clamping his mouth shut, he sat back. "Never mind," he muttered. Harry was almost certain he had nearly suggested something for his birthday. 

He looked at Mrs. Weasley, who was now smiling at him, and the twins, who just seemed to be making the normal amount of trouble, considered how much _better_ he felt, and made a decision. 

"I still like you too, you know," he said.

Ron shot him a suspicious look. 

"Even if you are a git," Harry said, and that seemed to be the right tack. Ron rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, now. 

"Will you stay and have lunch with us, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "Your friend too, of course." 

"Oh, sure." Belatedly, Harry thought to look at Draco, who appeared alarmed at the idea. "Um, you know he's my, um, boyfriend, right?" 

"It might have been mentioned," George said dryly.

"Possibly less than a thousand times."

 

Lunch with Weasleys was somewhat embarrassing. Harry could tell it was worse for Draco, who wasn't used to considering the twins' jibes in a friendly light. Fred and George had to rush back to work after a little while, however, and Harry, at least, belatedly appreciated how they had filled every awkward silence. 

At last, they could reasonably say that they needed to freshen up before their return to the trial, and they stood to leave. Draco bowed slightly to Mrs. Weasley and said he was pleased to have met her, and they made their escape while she was still blushing. 

They didn't make it far. Bulstrode and Parkinson, who had apparently been waiting for Draco to be free of Weasleys, intercepted them halfway across the floor. 

"Draco, darling!" Pansy exclaimed. "We've been hoping to see you!" 

Telling himself that he would only be in the way, Harry attempted to wave a farewell to Draco and move on, but Draco caught his arm in a tight grip. 

"If I have to treat yours decently," he whispered viciously, "you have to treat mine decently." 

His voice was low, but not so low that the others couldn't hear. Pansy tittered, and Harry felt his face heat. 

"Sorry," he said. He nodded at the girls. "Hello."

Draco and Parkinson made almost identical eyerolls at his lack of breeding, but Bulstrode gave a nod that looked something like approval. 

"Unfortunately," Draco said, once Harry was standing properly at his side, "we _are_ in a bit of a hurry. We need to wash -- and other necessaries -- and have about ten minutes before we need to start back to the courtroom. Will you be in town long?"

"I'm here for the whole trial, but Millicent leaves tomorrow." Parkinson frowned slightly. 

"Dinner, then?" Draco suggested. 

"Oh, lovely! There's a marvelous new place down Fortune Row called the Grand Game -- you'd love the rabbit confit."

"Excellent!" Draco indicated Harry with a quick motion of his eyes. "Dinner for four, then? At eight?"

"Dinner for four," Parkinson confirmed, beaming. 

"Don't look so horrified, Harry," Draco whispered on the stairs. 

"I was just hoping for a pleasant evening at the end of this."

"Oh, you'll get one." Draco smirked. "I may make you be nice to my friends, but intend for you to find it _well_ worth your while." 

 


	4. Stories

 

If the morning session of the trial was unsettling, the afternoon one was outright disturbing. Avery did as Harry had expected and claimed that he wasn't present. However, two of his witnesses were not available, so his matter was tabled and the trial moved on to Lucius Malfoy. 

There were chains on the three remaining chairs -- Nott was no longer present -- but none of the defendants were restrained with them. When his name was called, Lucius stood with quiet dignity. He was impeccably, but sedately, dressed in robes of soft grey, and he held his head high. 

"Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot," he said, bowing politely, "I do not deny that I was present at this gathering of supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, nor that I followed those of his servants who pursued my only son and heir. However, my presence was not willing, and I followed Draco only to protect him."

Harry repressed a snort only out of a sense of the dignity of occasion. He looked towards Draco, expecting to share a moment of amusement -- surely no one would believe such tripe -- but Draco sat stiffly, lips pressed in a tight line. 

"As you all know, I received the Dark Mark in my youth, while under the Imperius curse." Lucius grimaced. "That, unfortunately, gives He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named the ability to maintain an approximate idea of my movements, and of course it is difficult to know which of my companions who claimed the same are sincere, and which are hiding behind lies. 

"Giles Goyle has been a friend of mine nearly all my life. When he invited my son and me to a social gathering, it was only natural to accept. But then, his portkey brought me to an unexpected location, and I was obliged to watch, hopelessly outnumbered by his loyal servants, while He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attempted to similarly brand my son." Lucius took in a hard, painful breath, and Harry watched with growing hatred a performance that might have convinced him had he not known better. 

"When Draco escaped, I was, of course, relieved, but then several of those gathered turned to pursue him. I followed through the portkey trace and attacked Giles as he expanded his broom -- he'd got us into this situation, after all -- and he disarmed me, but I was too frantic to be sensible. Whatever his crimes may have been, he wasn't so far gone as to do an old friend real harm, and I followed. I could not do anything less for a child of my blood. 

"Wandless, I could be of little help. Giles fought with both my wand and his own, leaving, no doubt, damning evidence. I swear, though, that I did nothing to endanger my son."

For minute, the room was silent. "Please continue, Mr. Malfoy," a man on the floor said levelly. He was standing in front of the facing box. Harry thought he might be part of the defense team.

"I -- it's hard to know what to say," Lucius continued, his voice just slightly unsteady. More than one listener was dabbing at her (or even his) eyes. Except for Voldemort, Harry had never wanted to hurt another person so badly as he did Lucius Malfoy now. 

"Draco -- my own son believes that I would try to kill him! I -- it's _Potter's_ influence -- it must be! The boy is unbalanced, and Dumbledore has encouraged his paranoia rather than helping him, and he's been filling my son's head with his own delusions of persecution." Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, as if mustering his resources, and then opened them again. "It pains me," he said, with quiet dignity, "that we must be victims to such experiments in education as to turn our own sons and daughters -- our future -- against us." He glanced down at his unused chains, for just a second, and then raised his head to look again at the Inquisitor. "That is my statement," he said levelly, and sat.

"Bastard," Harry muttered, but Draco shushed him. Harry would have worried had Draco not also gripped his hand tightly, the contact nearly hidden under the wide sleeve of his robes. 

The clerk had asked Lucius Malfoy if he wanted to call any witnesses, and Lucius waved the matter wearily over to his barrister, who took a few steps from the chairs towards the box Harry and Draco were in. 

"Professor Albus Dumbledore," he called. 

 

The defense questioned Dumbledore as to who had cast the Cruciatus curse, and while he said that he believed that it was Lucius Malfoy, he of course had not seen the curse cast. Draco had already been on the floor of his office before he had caught his first glimpse of the interlopers. He did use that word, and Harry, for the first time, began to appreciate the potential value of the trespassing charge. 

Dumbledore wasn't even able to testify that he had seen Lucius with a wand. When he had first emerged from the school, several of the Death Eaters had rushed towards him, and Snape had fired off Disarming spells from behind them. Dumbledore had been dueling Nott, and hadn't seen whose hands the wands had flown from. 

Harry knew that this wasn't good. Snape had been cleared without a hearing, due to private testimony from various people -- including not only Dumbledore, but unnamed officials in the MLE -- that he had been working as an informant, but he still wasn't what most people would consider a reliable witness. 

The prosecution, he thought, would probably have called Draco next, since he might have seen something definite, even while fleeing, but it wasn't their turn yet. The defense, instead, called Theodore Nott. 

He wasn't the best witness either, Harry thought, as the pale young man rose stood and stepped out of the witness box to face the inquisitors. He had a strong resemblance to his uncle, whose hateful confession must still be fresh in everyone's minds. Still, he had a quiet, serious look that professors liked, and which Harry imagined that people in government might like as well. 

"Now, Theodore," the man said, "you go to school with Draco Malfoy, don't you? Would you say he's a reliable witness?"

Nott hesitated. "He used to be dependable," he said. 

"Ah. And what happened?"

Nott grimaced. "He started hanging out with Potter, and Potter's always in trouble. He's been drunk at school, and he spent half of last spring being punished for leaving the grounds, and everyone knows --"

Harry tensed, and he could feel Draco, beside him, do the same. Whispers spread through the Wizengamot. Dumbledore's voice cut through them. 

"Objection," he said. "Mr. Potter's reliability is not relevant to the matter at hand. Furthermore, he is a _minor_ , and any disciplinary action to which he may have been subject is therefore not admissible at a public hearing." 

Harry didn't feel any less like cringing at _that_ , but the defense barrister did not dispute the point. Instead, he consulted with his clerk, giving the assembly more time to speculate among themselves. Draco reached over and squeezed Harry's hand. "Sorry," he muttered.

After a moment, the man cleared his throat. "Theodore, please continue, but restrain yourself to the matters relevant to Draco."

Nott nodded and sent Harry -- or perhaps Draco -- a vicious look. "Well, Draco used to be around the common room most evenings, but in December, he started going missing. He'd be gone almost every other night, and we found out later that he was meeting Potter. They both stayed at the school over the Christmas holiday, and when we came back, it was even worse -- sometimes he'd be out well into the night, and come back smelling of alcohol. About a month into term, he started saying negative things about his family. I think it was to impress Potter, you know -- that he was too well-bred for Potter and had to play that down. In March, we started seeing him with more vulgar students, even--"

"Mr. Nott," the barrister interrupted, before Nott could say anything to damage his own case. "I'd like to review a few of your points. You feel that young Mr. Malfoy may have used animosity toward his father to impress Mr. Potter?"

"Oh, definitely. They fought about politics once, in public, and after that, Draco would make a show of being annoyed when he received letters from home. And he'd make trouble in other ways. When they were caught exchanging messages in Transfiguration lessons, Draco set their notes on fire. Potter was impressed with that one." 

Draco nudged Harry. "You're so easy," he whispered, but there was a savage tension below the joke.

"And he would stay out drinking with him?" 

"That's certainly what it seemed to be." 

"Did he do anything else to impress Potter?" 

Nott answered slowly, his attention going back to them. "Bought him presents," he said. "Clothes. And a torclinde." 

Harry had left Susara at the Leaky Cauldron, afraid he might give in to the temptation of whispering to her. Now he knew he had made the right decision. His fingers brushed along his arm, where she should be, and Draco caught at his hand. 

Conscious, suddenly, of the stares on them, Harry took a long breath, smiled as best he could at Draco, and folded his hands in his lap. What he needed to do was look well-behaved. Sadly, he'd never been any good at that, even when it was true. 

 

Crabbe and another, older Slytherin -- ex Slytherin, Harry supposed -- gave similar testimony, talking about Draco's slide from responsibility, and never missing an opportunity to mention Harry's bad influence. Harry grew increasingly angry and embarrassed, and Draco, although silent beside him, was recognizably fuming. Harry could tell by the way his fingers slid against each other, as if missing the smooth strength of his wand. When the testimony ended and the court adjourned for the night, Harry didn't know where to look. 

"Sorry," Draco whispered again. 

"It's not your fault." 

Draco shrugged. "It depends on how you think about it." 

Tonks came down to meet them, and Harry felt an embarrassing rush of gratitude when she looked at him with ironic sympathy rather than curiosity or censure. "Come on, loves -- I can chivvy you past the press." She leaned closer. "And I'm bloody glad that _my_ least friendly classmates were never invited to go on about my escapades in court."

As promised, Tonks escorted them back to the Cauldron, fending off a few intrepid reporters who had staked out the back corridor, and with an admonition to Draco that he was on his own until she came to walk him to breakfast, left both of them at Draco's room. Draco dropped into the room's only chair. 

"The conniving bastard. 'Delusions of persecution' indeed!" He raised his head to look at Harry. "I can't believe he had the gall to try to cast _you_ as the corrupter." With a groan, he sagged back against the worn cushions. "Except I can."

"The problem is," Harry said slowly, "that my friends can't deny the drinking, or the staying out late, or the sneaking out of school...."

"Gryffindors," Draco growled. 

Harry was wondering whether to laugh or to take offence when a knock sounded at the door. 

"Mr. Malfoy?" Tom's voice called. "Mr. Clark is here to see you." 

Draco sighed and levered himself out of the chair. "Give us a few minutes, Harry? I'll come to your room when I'm done."

"Of course." 

At the doorway, Harry and the solicitor walked past each other as if the other didn't exist, but Harry didn't make it far. Fred and George Weasley were waiting outside his room. 

"How did you get here?" Harry demanded.

"We have a message from old Dumbledore."

"Which is enough to earn us an escort up." 

"Where's the toff?"

Harry scowled. " _Draco_ is with his solicitor, and I want you gone by the time he comes out." 

"Ooo! Was that _his_ room you came out of?"

"Fred...." Harry said warningly, but both twins were ignoring him. They parted to walk past Harry on both sides, which disconcerted him enough that it was a moment before he realized where they were going. 

"Hey!" He hurried after them. "Draco's in a private meeting! You stay out of there!" 

"Oh, we will!"

"Of course."

Fred's voice dropped. "We plan to stay--"

"-- out here." 

In front of Draco's door, George drew his wand and whispered a spell.

"-- your mother," Mr. Clark was saying, his voice now clear in the hallway. 

"Inadequate," Draco retorted, his voice brittle. "Even were she not, Harry is non-negotiable. I will not say it again." 

Harry had his wand drawn and pointed at George. "End that." 

"Do you have some _better_ strategy?" Clark said dryly. 

"Don't try it, Harry," Fred warned. 

Draco's reply was drowned out by competing incantations. Fred went crashing into the door, and Harry felt a stinging lash across his chest. He pressed forward anyway, standing over Fred. Footsteps clattered inside the room, and George hastily ended his charm. 

"What is _this_?" Clark asked, at a vicious hiss, while Draco, behind him, glared. 

"Just a little disagreement," Harry said, not lifting his eyes or his wand. "I said Draco wasn't to be disturbed." 

Fred scooted back more tightly against the wall. "Damn it, Harry, it was just a message from Dumbledore." 

"Urgent?" Harry asked sweetly.

"Private." 

"Most of this business _is_ too private for a public corridor, isn't it?" Harry retorted. 

The twins looked at each other, and it was George who spoke. "Sorry, Harry. You're right. Let Fred up, now, will you?" 

With a roll of his eyes, Harry did. Draco looked searchingly at him a moment, and then nodded. 

"Harry, take these two back to your room, would you please? If the message is too private to be given to you, they will need to wait." His glance raked scornfully over the twins before returning to Harry. "Of course, anything too private for you, I would hope the headmaster would have the sense not to tell to _them_." 

"Er...."

"We'll talk to Harry then." 

"We wanted to do that anyway." 

 

Back in his room, Harry rounded on the twins. George was casting a spell on the door. 

"What is _that_?" 

"Privacy charm. Our own." 

"So _my_ business doesn't end up in the corridor?"

"Exactly." The twins looked at each other. 

"We didn't mean...." 

"We just thought he might be plotting against you."

"Well he wasn't, now, was he?" 

"Not that we heard."

"Probably not." 

"We won't do it again." 

"I _love_ him," Harry said angrily.

"All right, all right!"

"We're just looking after you."

"I don't want looking after!" 

Another shared glance, and George spoke. He sounded uncommonly subdued. "No one does." 

"And we don't usually." 

"Look, what are you actually here for?" Harry demanded. "Is there a message from Dumbledore or not?"

"Yes." George cleared his throat. "Er, he wanted to remind you to keep your temper, and to tell Draco that the prosecution will call on him in the morning, and that you should both join the group for breakfast." 

"That's it?" Harry gaped. "That's ... that's hardly worth mentioning!" 

"Ah. But we volunteered to carry messages, as we had intended to speak with you anyway," Fred explained.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"Maybe some other time," Fred said hurriedly. 

"Oh since you're here," Harry said bitingly, "you might as well tell me." 

The twins, amusingly, looked as if their mother had caught them at mischief. "Well...."

"The owl order business is doing really well," George blurted out.

"That's good."

"And we were hoping to open a shop."

"There's a place available right here on Diagon Alley."

"Just past Knockturn, but closer than Gambol & Japes." 

Harry looked at their forced cheer and made a guess. "You need money." 

"Profits are good," George said hurriedly. 

"Just not good enough," Fred confessed. "They _will_ be though, Harry, we know it."

"You won't regret it." 

Harry stared at them. "Bad time to attack my boyfriend then, wasn't it?" 

"It wasn't an _attack_ \--"

"You could have endangered him. You could have given away strategy for the trial. You didn't know what you were damaging, and you didn't care!" 

Fred let out an exasperated sigh. George bit his lip. "You're serious about him, aren't you?"

" _Yes._ " 

"Well, we thought it might just be..." George shrugged. "Good sex?"

"I was _serious_ about him when we were still just friends, prat. _And_ when we were involved and not doing anything." 

George shook his head like a muddled dog. "Why bother with that?"

Fred nodded. "Right. Not like he can get pregnant."

"I wanted to be sure it--" Harry stopped. One didn't discuss _feelings_ with Fred and George. He shrugged. "I'd never thought about blokes. I wanted to think it over a bit, and try snogging first, and make certain that liking each other wasn't just ... just not knowing what to do with _wanting_ , you know?" 

"And it wasn't?" Fred asked incredulously. 

"Not by half." Harry smirked. The twins looked at each other.

"So, this shop--" Fred started doggedly.

At that moment, however, there came a knock at the door, and Draco's voice calling "Harry?"

"Come in," Harry called back. He looked back at the innocent expressions on the twins' faces and his anger returned. "Fred and George were just leaving." 

 

When the twins were gone, and Harry had closed the door and cast his own privacy spell, he had to decide what to tell Draco. _Not_ that the eavesdropping spell had been cast, he decided. As annoyed as he might be at the twins right now, he generally liked them and wanted Draco to get along with them, eventually. That much information might set things back too far.

"They wanted to spy on you," he said, in compromise.

Draco rolled his eyes. "And you settled things the Gryffindor way?" 

"More or less. I did try talking first."

"Good of you." 

"They said they didn't trust you and it was for my own good."

Draco scowled at that, but Harry pressed on. " _Then_ they had the gall to ask me for a favor." 

"I do hope you refused." 

Harry shrugged. "Not outright, although I did give them the impression I would. The last thing that I told them was that insulting my boyfriend was a bad move."

"I would hope so!" Draco exclaimed, but the word 'boyfriend' seemed to mollify him some. 

With a sigh, Harry sat down on his bed. "The thing is, I'm not sure I want to refuse."

"Oh? Is it good?"

"Well, I'm part owner of their business."

"The owl-order joke shop?"

"Yes. I gave them my winnings from the Tri-Wizard tournament, and they made me a silent partner in return." 

Draco blinked. "They just ... happened to," he said slowly. "You didn't make it a condition." 

"I just wanted to get rid of the money!"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because Cedric had died! And I shouldn't have won! Barty Crouch had done his best to throw me the victory. I would have failed the Second Task completely if he hadn't arranged for me to get gillyweed." 

Draco shook his head. "I will _never_ understand you. So, you attempted to throw this money away, and they insisted on giving you something of entirely hypothetical value in return."

"Right, except it's not that hypothetical anymore. They're making good money. I get reports, and anyway, I see their wares around Hogwarts."

"Oh, so I have I. You will note that I knew what 'their business' is." Draco crossed the room and sat next to Harry, but twisted to face him. "So, what do they want? A public endorsement?" 

"As if I would!" 

"More money then." 

Harry winced and nodded. "A shop's come available in Diagon Alley, but they don't have the reserves." Draco eyed him sternly, and he sighed. "Look, I'll turn them down, if you want me to. The problem is that they don't respect anyone -- or nearly -- so expecting them to respect you--"

"Put a sock in it," Draco said brusquely. He grinned at Harry's surprised look. "Listen for a moment. I don't want you to refuse them--"

"Really?"

"Hush. I want to negotiate the deal for you." He smirked. "Tell them it's penance." 

At that, Harry had to laugh. Fred and George would be horrified. "Don't take too much," he warned. "I'm rich, and they're not."

Draco shook his head. "Don't worry. They will be." He sat down on the bed. "Was that all? I'd like to tell you some about my consultation."

"Fine." Harry sat next to him. "Let me guess -- ditch me?"

"Mm. Of course, but not only that. He feels that my father is offering to reconcile with me, and providing a path; it wasn't my fault, of course -- you seduced me."

"Did I?" Harry said flatly.

"Well, of course not! The entire idea is absurd. You'd have no idea how to go about such a thing." Draco waved the matter off. "Anyway, I said no, of course, and he asked what else I could do, and I said I would tell the truth -- that got a laugh." His lips compressed for a moment. "I meant it," he said petulantly. "He doesn't understand. Father has a temper, and it sometimes overrides his discretion. It doesn't always, but I believe that arousing his anger is my best play, and the truth -- properly approached -- will do that. With luck, he'll _react_ , and tarnish this 'concerned father' image he's creating." 

With a long sigh, Draco straightened against the sag of the mattress. "Merlin, but this is miserable!"

"Yes." 

Draco sighed. "Well, we might as well get ready for dinner."

"Do you still want to do that?" Harry remembered Auror Tonks that afternoon and Draco's nerves when he arrived, and hoped that perhaps Draco would decide that they should stay in. For his part, Harry wasn't too worried, but he would far rather an evening in with just Draco than out with a group of Slytherins. Any reporters who saw them would probably assume he was dating Bulstrode. _Or_ , he thought, smiling to himself, _that Parkinson is_.

Draco hesitated, but when he replied, his voice was firm. "I miss my friends, Harry, and this is the friendliest that Pansy has been since I fled back to Hogwarts. And she chose Millicent, who's not one of her usual set, but _is_ a neutral. That means something. I need to talk to her while she's willing to listen. I wouldn't risk going out alone, or during business hours, but I've stayed in for the past two nights. No one will be expecting me to leave now, and there are no crowds of shoppers for an attacker to hide in. And I'll have you with me." 

Harry couldn't keep from feeling flattered. "All right. I'll play bodyguard, then." 

"My Gryffindor," Draco said, with mock adoration. He took in a breath and let it out, ending with a bright smile. "So. Do you know what you're wearing?"

"What's wrong with what I have on?" Harry thought his robes from the trial would do for any good restaurant, but Draco shook his head. 

"Nothing, _per se_ , but they're _today's_ clothes. You want to get rid of that and start afresh, so you can enjoy yourself." 

"I don't need to --"

"I insist then. I refuse to think of that horrible trial every time I look at you." 

 

Once Draco had put it like that, Harry had no choice but to cooperate. To his surprise, he did feel marginally better once he was in fresh clothes. He thought he might even understand what Draco had meant. The change placed his day more firmly in the past. With more cheer than he would have expected, he stepped out into Diagon Alley, Draco at his side. Draco did not take his hand -- or his arm, as Harry could suddenly imagine him doing -- but he walked intimately close. Even dinner with Parkinson and Bulstrode -- _Pansy and Millicent_ , Harry reminded himself -- seemed worthwhile just to have dinner out with Draco. 

The summer day was still bright, but shifting to the golden light that presaged sunset. By that, he spotted a cluster of redheads a few shops ahead of them. He hesitated. It was Fred and George, with Ron walking between them. One of the twins turned to walk backwards for a few steps, gesturing and speaking. If he spotted them, he gave no sign. 

"Weasleys," Draco whispered. 

"I noticed." 

The Weasleys, however, remained ahead of them as they walked further. Aptly, Fortune Row turned out to be the street that came out onto Diagon Alley by Gringotts. Harry didn't think that was all that there was to the name. Smooth plank walks provided a raised path on either side of the street. The first building in, across from the side of the bank, was nearly as richly attractive, with marble pillars supporting a gate wrought of copper and something silver-bright. Further down, Harry could see what appeared to be a shop, closer to the street and ornamented with carved wood flourishes cleverly painted. 

"Pansy said that it's past the first crossing," Draco elaborated, as they took the turn. 

Harry nodded. He wondered if the Grand Game would try to express a hunting theme through its facade, and if so, how. He could see a few hanging signs out, but most were too tastefully ornate to be readable from a distance. He was peering forward, trying to decide if the furthest one showed antlers or a strange tree, when something came hurtling down from above, and Draco screamed and shoved him so that they fell away from each other. Harry hit the ground already rolling and came up to a crouch with his wand in hand. He didn't see an attacker, but thick ropes were winding around Draco's torso. Draco had his right arm upraised and was waving it back and forth, keeping it from being trapped. No noise came from his wide open mouth. 

"DRACO! _Libero_ _!_ " The spell was a dueling standard and came easily to Harry's tongue. The ropes fell from Draco. As they did, however, something else came from above, landing heavily behind Harry. He whipped around and found himself facing someone masked and cloaked as a Death Eater. 

His Petrifaction hex was blocked, and the man advanced, his left hand wielding a knife that was fully as long as the wand in his right. With Draco behind him, Harry was afraid to dodge. He threw up a shield spell of his own, hoping to block whatever his opponent tried next. 

" _Av--_ "

A fist-sized missile hurtled past his head and caught the man in the chest. He fell back, the curse unfinished, and Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pointed to his own throat. Footsteps pounded from Diagon Alley as Harry undid the Muting hex on Draco. Immediately, Draco pointed his wand over Harry's shoulder and Harry whipped around to defend them, only to find that they now had two attackers to deal with.

" _Ossum_ _\--_ " Draco stopped. " _Expelliarmus_ _!_ " He growled in frustration. "Bloody _hell_!"

The Disarming spell had worked, sending both wand and knife flying, but the second Death Eater hit Draco with a tripping hex, and he went down. Harry retaliated with _Impedimenta_ , darting to the side so that Draco would not be in the line of fire. As he did so, he realized that he had miscalculated. The disarmed man was lunging for Draco, hands outstretched. Inches away from his goal, he was suddenly knocked backwards in a flash of light. 

"HARRY!

The twins and Ron were running over, wands out. Harry's opponent fell in a flash of pink. For several seconds, he thrashed under what appeared to be a coating of bubblegum, and then, with a sticky pop, he vanished. 

The remaining man dove for his wand and followed. 

The street was quiet, except for their panting breaths. Harry helped Draco to his feet, and they kept their arms around each other. With the Weasleys, they stood in the suddenly quiet street, looking warily around. A few shreds of bubblegum, an abandoned knife, and a displaced chunk of flint were the only signs of the battle. Harry saw a curtain edge flick down in the nearest house. He let out a shaky breath. 

"Thanks."

"No problem." Fred sounded equally unsettled. His freckles showed darkly in his pale face. "As it turned out. You okay, Malfoy?" 

Draco nodded. Harry could feel him trembling. 

"Sorry," Harry said. "Guess I'm not much of a bodyguard." 

Draco laughed slightly and leaned into him. "Oh, you did pretty well. Just need training up, I think." 

"I wasn't expecting him to keep going for you when he was disarmed." 

"Neither was I." 

Ron, who had been looking stunned, finally found his voice. "Looked like he was trying to grab you." 

"Yes." Draco straightened. "In hindsight, I think the goal was abduction." 

"But why?"

Draco grimaced. "The trial? They don't want me talking?" He hesitated. "Though they could have killed me, easily enough. They must have more complicated plans." 

Everyone understood that wasn't a good thing. Ron shuddered. 

"Thanks for saving him, Ron," Harry said finally, since it seemed that Draco wouldn't. 

Draco twitched. "Was that you who knocked him back? Yes, thank you."

"No problem," Ron said, echoing his brother. Harry thought he couldn't quite manage 'you're welcome,' but his shoulders settled at having the matter out of the way. "Look -- maybe we should come along with you two."

Fred nodded. "A larger group never hurts."

"Except when sneaking," George amended.

"But you obviously aren't." 

"We _were_ going out to dinner," Draco said. "Now, though, I think we should return to our rooms." 

"Do you think Par-- Pansy set us up?"

"She wouldn't." Draco scowled. "I'm sure she wouldn't do that to me. But we've been seen here, in any case. Going on with it would be reckless." 

Harry nodded grimly. He didn't find it nearly as unbelievable that Pansy had betrayed them, especially if she had been promised that Draco wouldn't be killed. 

"We need to tell her, though," Draco said. His trembling, rather than easing, was growing worse. "I won't have her thinking that I stood her up." 

"Wait!" Ron protested. "What if she _did_ set you up? If Harry thinks so--."

"I think it's a possibility," Harry clarified. "That doesn't mean--"

"If she _did_ , she won't show her hand by attacking a messenger," Draco interrupted. Abruptly, he twisted out of Harry's hold and sat down on the plank walk. "One of you can go and tell her." 

"You want us to bring a message to a Slytherin?" Ron countered, disgust sharp in his voice.

"I want one of you to bring a message to one of my closest childhood friends," Draco retorted through clenched teeth. Harry moved forward. 

"Enough. Ron, go and tell Pansy, please? But one of the twins should go with you, in case those bastards come back." 

"Or someone's waiting with her," Ron said darkly.

"Right. And if she acts off, let us know."

Ron nodded. "All right. Where?" 

"The Grand Game. Just past the first corner, we're told." 

Ron nodded again, and set out with Fred. As soon as they were moving, Harry dropped down by Draco. 

"Are you okay?"

"No." Draco grimaced. "But I can make it back."

George dropped down on Draco's other side. "What hurts?" 

"Everything." Draco probed his ribs gingerly before pulling his hands back to his sides. "But mostly my ankle. Damn cobblestones."

"Mm. I'm not bad with healing charms. A necessity, really, considering our line of research. May I check it?"

"Go ahead." 

After a few spells, George announced that the ankle wasn't broken, and cast one spell to reinforce where it was strained and another to dull the pain. Draco came gingerly back to his feet. 

"Perhaps we could just apparate in?" he tried.

George shook his head. "Not into the building itself. We could to the entrance, but I can't take both of you, and I don't think either of you should be alone."

"I can apparate." 

"But it's still before us or after us, right?"

"Oh. Yes, I see what you mean." Draco set his shoulders back and lifted his chin. "Walking it is." 

They walked.

 

"We make a pretty good team." 

"Mm." Harry snuggled against Draco's side. George had helped remove visible bruises from both of them before he left, but Harry was still sore all over from the fight. Not moving was good. Warmth was better.

"So, I have a plan."

Harry's eyes opened, much as they might have had someone said "look -- a charging dragon!"

"I'll take over Slytherin," Draco confided, "and you take over Gryffindor. That gives us --"

"What?" 

"I take over Slytherin; you take over Gryffindor," Draco repeated, as if this were simple. Harry sat up. It hurt. 

"Nobody runs Gryffindor!" he protested. 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Not because it can't be done, though. Just because Gryffindors don't usually do that sort of thing. But _you_ could." 

"You think so, do you?"

"Yes," Draco said boldly. He rolled onto his back, pulling Harry on top of him. "Because you're that good." 

Harry rubbed up against him. He wasn't so sore after all. It was hardly noticeable under the effect that Draco was having on him as he rocked into him, back, and in again. Draco's loose trousers were intended to be worn under robes, and didn't hold much in. "I am, am I?"

Draco smirked. "You got Ron Weasley to run a message for me." 

"So I did." Harry kissed him. He had to. 

"And--"

"Later."

"Mm?" Draco prompted, failing to look innocent. 

"Plan _later._ I want to try something." 

"Something that doesn't require planning?"

Harry pushed a hand down between them, rubbing awkwardly along the hard line of Draco's erection. "Yeah." He moved his knees, pushing up a little to give his arm more room, and managed to get his hand into Draco's trousers, letting out a little moan at the brush of his knuckles against smooth skin. "God, yeah." 

"I'm sure you've done that before," Draco said, but his voice was ragged.

"A little." The first time, Draco had been so close when he had come into reach that Harry had hardly had time for a few strokes. It had been gratifying, but hardly educational. The next morning had been more of a languid rubbing together, supplemented by inefficient, but pleasantly mutual, touches. Draco reached for him, but Harry shifted down, out of easy reach. 

"No. Stay."

"I'm not a dog," Draco complained, but the words came with a wicked smile, and he pulled Harry's pillow a little further down under his head. He looked so satisfied that Harry was worried that Draco expected him to suck him. He wasn't sure that he could do that -- not now. It still seemed weird. 

"I want to see what I'm doing," he remarked, to clarify things without stating that he was. 

"Go ahead. I'm not shy." 

Eyes narrowing at the challenge, Harry stripped off the trousers and the pants below them. As he had two nights before, he found himself staring at Draco's cock, longer than his, he thought, but more slender. _I could take that_ , he found himself thinking, evaluating the width against what came _out_ of his arse, which should have been a gross comparison, but was somehow merely setting aside a fear he had never acknowledged. The thought didn't linger. It wasn't like he wanted to try that now, anyway.

Instead, he trailed his fingers through pale curls and to the base of that cock, and then slowly up, making the thing twitch in response. 

"Oh," he breathed. On himself, that didn't feel like _power_. 

"Please." 

"Yeah." 

He wrapped his fingers around the base and pulled up, loosening his hold enough to move over the skin. Draco moaned. It wasn't quite like feeling a touch on himself, but it was feedback enough. Draco's head was tipped back, emphasizing his throat. Harry remembered exploring that with his tongue the morning before, tracing the lines of tendon and the rise of that Adam's apple. It was tempting even now, but so was the hard length in his hand. 

Looking down, Harry thought he might see the appeal of doing oral sex. He at least wanted to trace the lines with his tongue, just as he had with Draco's throat. Instead, he brushed his fingers over a wide collar of foreskin to touch the pink head that pushed through them. 

He moved closer, to watch in detail the rough skin of his fingers against the smooth skin of Draco's most protected of places. It was too close for his glasses, so he took them off. Here, he could smell the musk of Draco's skin, and he found himself bending close to lick. It wasn't gross at all, really -- salty, but that was good, and the way that Draco shuddered was better. More deliberately, he did it again. 

" _Harry._ I didn't think you'd--" 

He took the head of Draco's cock in his mouth, and Draco's words ended in a soft wail. Pleased, Harry ran his tongue around the edge of the soft-skinned tip, and felt a surge of satisfaction when Draco grabbed at his hair.

Draco didn't pull or try to keep him in place, just held on, and touched, and occasionally moved his fingers in little circles over Harry's scalp, teasing at the locks as if he'd leave him looking like a hedgehog. He also made high, desperate sounds and low, lustful sounds and everything in between. As Harry discovered he could move lower, taking more of the shaft into his mouth, Draco began to rock just a little, not thrusting, but suggesting a rhythm, which Harry picked up gladly. He settled down against the mattress, pushing into it every time his lips moved down, and one of Draco's legs curled behind his shoulder, encouraging more movement. 

That grew faster, and then frantic and graceless, spurred on by Draco's rising response. Harry's jaw began to ache, and just as he started to fear that he wouldn't last until Draco came, the tone of Draco's sounds changed as his throat opened, and with a choked _"now"_ that might have been a warning, he raised his hips higher than before and began to spurt thickly into Harry's mouth. 

The texture was bizarre and the taste bitter and musky, and Harry swallowed quickly. For a moment, his eyes watered, and he had to open his mouth to move his tongue more, and Draco's softening cock slipped out and down to his abdomen. Regretful, Harry swept up it with a slow lick, and was fascinated to see another white drop form at the slit. Of course, he had known that happened, but it was different to cause it on someone else. Deliberately, he drew the point of his tongue up that spongy path, his eyes taking in the emergence of a white line of semen, and then, bravely, he took it on the tip of his tongue ... where that small amount tasted unaccountably better than a quantity of it had deeper in his mouth. 

He lifted his head, grinning at Draco's woozy smile. He was still desperately hard, but he'd ceased to push against the mattress during his fascination with Draco's climax. The urgency began to rise again. 

"Okay for a first try?" he asked smugly, as he crawled up Draco's body. With an affirmative moan, Draco fell back into the pillow. His face was pink and sweaty, his eyes dark with the wideness of the pupils, and his hair was as messy as Harry's own, pale locks pointed in competing directions. He looked gorgeous. Harry settled in to kiss him, pleased at the thought of how he must taste. Within seconds, Draco's hand had wrapped around his erection, and was moving up and down it, in time with the kiss. 

Harry could feel his mind overloading, thought drowning under sensation. He was only vaguely aware of breaking the kiss, first to breathe, and then to roar with a rising surge of pleasure that blinded him like lightning. 

He lay there afterwards, regaining his breath. Draco tipped him to the side and then came up on one elbow beside him. 

"That was marvelous." His mouth twitched in a sly smile. "I'm ridiculously pleased at the thought that the whole floor may have heard you."

Harry couldn't feel upset at the idea himself. 

 

Harry stayed sprawled out on the bed and watched lazily as Draco pulled on a shirt -- which he left unbuttoned -- and began to arrange his hair. 

"If we're going to do this...."

Draco made an inquiring sound and Harry realized that "this" was highly ambiguous, under the circumstances. 

"Take over our houses, I mean. If we're going to do that, being together will be a problem."

Draco set down the brush. "How so?"

"Well, it rather undermines our credibility, doesn't it? In our own houses?"

Draco's cheeks raised in an unguarded smile. "Not at all. We just need to be sure that the Gryffindors believe that you are in change, and the Slytherins believe that I am."

"And how do we do that? Orchestrate scenes? I'm not much of an actor, if you'll recall." 

"We take advantage of house differences in perception." Draco sat on the bed and bumped Harry lightly on the nose with one finger. "If you give me orders, and I take them, the Gryffindors will think you're in charge, correct?"

Harry twitched his head to the side and back to nip at the finger. "Mm-hm."

"But if I give you advice, and you take it, the Slytherins will _know_ I'm in charge." 

Harry laughed, dislodging the finger, which he had started to suck on. "Take charge, then, Draco! I clearly need all the advice I can get." In a sudden move, he grabbed Draco and pulled him over onto the mattress. 

"Hey!"

Harry's voice dropped to a low growl. "Make it work." _Because I'm not giving you up for anything_ , he wanted to say, but that wasn't really true, of course. Both of them knew he would give Draco up for a wife, someday. Having forbidden Draco to ignore that, he shouldn't do so himself. Instead he held Draco close and kissed him with a need that had not been at all abated by sex. 

 


	5. Machinations

 

Breakfast had even more people in attendance than the day before, but the additions were all from Hogwarts. Harry saw Professor McGonagall tuck a section of the _Daily Prophet_ in her bag as he entered the room. He didn't ask to see it. The sick dread in his stomach probably left him better able to behave than the anger that would replace it. 

He kept waiting for someone to scold them about last night's activities, but after both Auror Tonks and Dumbledore had greeted them without their excursion being mentioned, he decided they must not know. He and Draco should tell the Aurors, he knew, but he didn't want to. They couldn't identify either of their attackers -- or even prove they had been attacked -- but someone would question his judgment, and Dumbledore might put him under guard. 

After Dumbledore continued on his circuit of the room, Draco leaned close to Harry. "Your Weasley friends kept quiet," he whispered approvingly, and Harry nodded. 

Breakfast hadn't arrived yet, so Draco, with a brush of his hand along Harry's shoulder, left to talk to other people in the room. Harry tried not to watch him. When Dumbledore stood at the head of the table, cleared his throat, and asked for people to take their seats, Harry was surprised to see Draco speaking to McGonagall. He was perhaps less surprised to see him passing back a section of the _Daily Prophet_. 

"If I may have your attention, please," Dumbledore said clearly. "For the benefit of those not familiar with the structure of this type of hearing, I would like to review the basic schedule. Today, it is our turn to select and question witnesses. That may continue until the end of the day. After that, they may question our witnesses, and we may question theirs. After that, the Inquisitors will begin direct questioning, and at the end of that, both sides will be allotted a certain time, at young Mr. Cabot's discretion, for final statements, and possibly, additional testimony. After that stage concludes, they will deliver a verdict, and we will continue on to Mr. Talbot. We must remember that today's testimony is on the matter of Lucius Malfoy's actions only."

Draco, at Harry's side, was sitting with his lips pressed tightly together. Harry thought he looked paler than usual. 

"We will start our testimony with Severus Snape," Dumbledore continued. He raised his hand to quiet murmurs around the table. "With his many unique advantages and disadvantages, for they are substantially intertwined." Snape, Harry noticed, looked no better than Draco, though his mouth was tight with a scowl. "After that, we will call either Minerva McGonagall or Draco Malfoy, as the situation warrants. From there, there are more paths yet. 

"If you are called, keep the following facts in mind. One: you are testifying against Lucius Malfoy, no one else. Two: your testimony may be effective not only by revealing facts today, but by leading the Inquisitors to probe in particular directions in their turn. Three: you must at all times seem respectful and willing, even if you must deflect a particular line of questioning." He smiled benevolently around at them. "Although I would hope that our preliminary discussions were complete enough that such an action would only be necessary _after_ today." Another smile and a slow nod. "We have twenty minutes until our portkey leaves for the Ministry. Please enjoy your breakfast."

 

In the courtroom, Harry watched Severus Snape stalk out onto the floor. The man looked like a vampire in a Muggle suspense flick. Harry felt his stomach clench. He leaned toward Draco.

"No one will believe him," he whispered. 

"A few will," Draco whispered back. His voice was unsteady, and Harry regretted raising his doubts. "I may be next, and I doubt I'm better." 

"Of course you are." 

Draco smiled at him uncertainly, and then, to Harry's surprise, settled an arm around Harry's shoulders and tugged him close. "Cuddle," he said, in quiet command. 

Harry found it unnerving to be suddenly in the role of the protected -- and he couldn't help but think of it that way -- but they were almost of a height, and it worked as well as the reverse position. It wasn't at all like being a girl, he decided, but it did make him worry that people would think Draco was in charge. Still, it was a relief to be claimed, and he could understand if Draco _needed_ to feel in charge today. He leaned against his boyfriend slightly, and relaxing wasn't as hard as he had expected. He wondered how Draco felt about it when he did that. 

From that comfortable position, he looked up and saw Malfoy senior's glare. Spontaneously, he grinned back. Snape, waiting for the signal to speak, saw him and pinched the bridge of his nose as if holding back a headache. Harry didn't pull away from Draco, but he did try for a more solemn expression. 

Draco's breath touched the side of his neck. "Mine," he whispered, and Harry shivered.

"Mr. Snape." The speaker was Professor McGonagall. Apparently, the questioner didn't need to be a barrister after all. Harry wondered how much of the trial he was misunderstanding by trying to impose a Muggle structure on it. "Please summarize how you know Lucius Malfoy and Draco Malfoy." 

Snape nodded curtly. "Lucius Malfoy was Head Boy when I was in my second year at Hogwarts -- and, of course, a prefect in my house the year before that. When I was sixteen, mutual friends brought me to his house to discuss support of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Over--"

"Objection," a wizard for the defense barked out. "These matters were reviewed in court in 1982. Since that time, witnesses have died or vanished, and evidence decayed. For Mr. Snape to revive these allegations --" 

"Sustained," Cabot clipped out. 

"Mr. Snape," McGonagall said coolly. "Please minimize your references to events prior to 1982."

Snape nodded curtly. "I became," he said, sending an odd look at Lucius Malfoy, "a friend of the family." His gaze turned to Narcissa in the gallery, who looked coolly back. "I was present in the house when Draco was born, and accepted the position of his spellfather, so I do not believe that assertion is at all tenuous." 

Snape's voice shook slightly. Harry had realized how difficult this situation was for Draco, but it had not occurred to him that Snape, despite the resentment of years of hidden opposition to Lucius, might also be similarly torn. Indeed, Snape kept his gaze on Narcissa, like a dog waiting helplessly for some sign of belonging. 

"Please continue," McGonagall said, incongruously gently. 

"When Draco started school, he was, of course, in my house," Snape said, his attention finally shifting to the young man at Harry's side. "I began to communicate with Lucius again, as teacher to parent, although we had largely fallen out of social contact in previous years."

"So you saw him only as a parent of a student?" McGonagall prompted. 

Snape hesitated, but then nodded. "Until Headmaster Dumbledore requested that I return as his spy to the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There, of course --"

"Objection!"

"Denied. Continue, Professor Snape." 

Snape nodded acknowledgement at the Special Inquisitor. "As a Death Eater, I of course saw Lucius more frequently, and we slowly resumed some contact outside of the Dark Lord's service and his son's education."

Beside Harry, Draco nodded, as if to himself. Across the floor, Lucius Malfoy managed to look disbelieving and offended. 

"Was it your impression that Mr. Malfoy wished his son to join him in service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes, of course. We discussed it frequently over the last year. Lucius feared the boy was too soft, and felt he should be brought in as soon as possible. I hoped to delay the matter until Draco had acquired more political independence, so I argued for after he left school, saying it would be awkward if Draco and I often vanished at the same time. I had believed I had persuaded him to at least wait until Draco was of age." 

"That was recent, was it not?" 

"A few weeks ago, yes. I was surprised to see him presented in April." Snape hesitated. "However, I was far more surprised to discover that he was unwilling." 

"You expected that he would want to become a Death Eater?"

"Yes. Though as he pointed out to me later, he knew me as someone in his father's circles as a fellow servant of the Dark Lord, and he was quite careful to give me no reason to question his loyalty." Snape's mouth twisted. "When he started to become friendly with Harry Potter, Draco went out of his way to convince me that he was gaining Mr. Potter's trust in order that he might betray him later. That caused me much unnecessary anxiety, especially as Potter -- who was equally certain of my opposite allegiance -- blithely told me that Draco would never harm him, and merely didn't trust me." He shrugged. "His opinion was correct, perhaps, but also unwarranted." 

"What happened at the meeting? Did you see Lucius and Draco Malfoy arrive?"

Snape scowled. "No. Since people arrive already masked and cloaked, and the Dark Lord -- quite wisely -- discourages socializing before meetings, I did not see them until Draco stepped forward and dropped his hood. He had not been masked, of course, but he had kept his face hidden, nonetheless."

"And what did young Mr. Malfoy do?"

"He spoke a few polite words, with all of his father's charm. He then said that before he could take the Mark, there was a slight complication of something that a 'companion at school' had given him. He opened a small pouch at his neck, as if to show what was inside to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but it was a portkey, and when he touched it, he vanished." 

"What happened then?"

"Lucius was furious -- and, no doubt, terrified of retribution. He leaped forward to begin the portkey trace even before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named shrieked at him to do so."

"Giles Goyle did not do it, then?"

Snape sneered. "I doubt Giles was _capable_ of performing a portkey trace. No, Lucius cast it, and emerged in the Shrieking Shack in full possession of his wand, with five of us accompanying him. We saw a flash of light through the boards on the windows, and apparated outside to see a silver dragon hanging in the sky, and by its glow, the boy flying away, already out of hexing distance...."

Harry had never heard this story from Snape, and it filled in gaps between his vision and Draco's arrival. He could imagine it: Draco bent low to his broom, fair hair white under his own silver light, black robes flapping behind him as he strove for yet more speed. 

A flash of gold shooting towards him fitted into thoughts of flying. Doubt came fast, but not as fast as honed Seeker's reflexes. Harry was already snapping his arm out to grab the tiny Snitch, his body moving too quickly to stop. The arm around his shoulders tightened, and Draco threw his weight back, pulling him away. Harry crashed to the ground on top of him, kicking Professor Flitwick in passing and bruising his shoulder on the edge of the bench. Around them, people were shouting and moving. An orange hex shot overhead. 

"NOBODY MOVE!" roared a deep voice. The clatter of footsteps stuttered to silence. Harry stared down at Draco and found him drawing in deep, desperate breaths, as if he had just outrun a manticore. "TONKS," the voice added in a more even tone, only the enhancement of the Sonorus charm keeping it loud. "REPORT."

Tonks, from a few steps away, answered. "THE POSSIBLE TARGETS ARE BOTH HERE AND ALIVE. THE OBJECT IS SECURED."

"GOOD. I STILL DON'T WANT ANYONE MOVING AROUND, BUT YOU MAY ALL SIT _IN THE NEAREST SEAT_.

 Carefully, and with belated regret, Harry extricated himself from Draco's hold and moved back onto the bench. Tonks had the Snitch in a magical net that sparked slightly when fluttering wings dragged against the purple lines of it. Harry looked across the room to where he thought the Snitch had come from, and saw the forgettable Auror moving along the back wall, his attention on the spectators below him. It was possible he was a plant and a threat, but it seemed more likely that he was looking for the source of the trouble. A far more obvious movement was the large, black Auror striding across the room. He opened the gate of their enclosure and was up beside Tonks in three great strides.

"What did you find?" he said, his voice hushed now, but clearly the one that had been giving orders before. 

"A Snitch, with randomization and evasion charms presumably deactivated. It's also a portkey," Tonks replied.

"Huhn. We should get someone from Artifacts in to trace it." The Auror looked over at them. "Potter, Malfoy -- are you all right?" 

"Just bruised, sir," Draco answered.

"Draco pulled me down, so yeah," Harry said, appreciating what a narrow escape that had been. "Bruised, but okay." 

The Auror touched his throat with his wand. 

"A Snitch portkey, sir. The boys are both Seekers -- either might have been the target." 

In front of Special Inquisitor Cabot, a quill scribbled on a paper. He read the message and stood. "Under the circumstances, I think we shall call a recess--"

The bland Auror was moving down through the tiers, now. Harry jumped up onto the bench. 

"No!" he shouted. The Inquisitors looked taken aback. Unable to cast a Sonorus charm, Harry had to settle for just projecting. "No one was hurt. Someone tried to take me out, or to take Draco out, and we should _not_ give them time to make new plans. Let's get _on_ with it." 

There was some scattered clapping, and even more scattered laughter. The Inquisitors leaned towards each other. Draco tugged at Harry's hand, and Harry, suddenly embarrassed at his own presumption, sat. Eventually, Percy Weasley stood up. 

"This hearing will continue while we await the arrival of additional Aurors. Professor McGonagall? You may continue to question the witness." 

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. Harry thought she was trying not to smile. "Severus? You were telling us about the chase?" 

Snape straightened. "Yes. I had expected the boy to land at the doors, but he stayed high, heading for a tower...." 

Snape told about how a window had opened just in time to admit Draco, and how, with no time to pause, he had bent down and tucked up his feet to go straight through, and how someone -- either Lucius, whose hood was down, or the person directly behind him -- had struck him with the Cruciatus curse as he passed over the window ledge. He talked about landing on the lawn, and the attack by the staff, and how, in a split-second judgment, he had attacked his companions from behind, rather than fighting with them against his patron, Professor Dumbledore. His painfully tense delivery did nothing to rob the account of its excitement, and many members of the Wizengamot were on the edge of their seats. Still, Harry wasn't sure they _believed_ him the way they did Lucius. 

 

Snape's testimony went on until the lunchtime recess, when Tonks once again escorted them -- or Draco, really, Harry reminded himself -- from the courtroom. Before they made it through the doors, a spectator -- not in somber Wizengamot garb, but in elegant robes of soft cream that were both feminine and modest in cut -- moved down the seats to intercept them. 

"Mother," Draco greeted her. 

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said neutrally. 

She nodded at him, the gesture gracious enough to surprise him. 

"Mr. Potter. So good to see you again. You would not mind, I hope, if I deprived you of my son's company for the next hour?" 

Harry looked querulously at Draco, but despite his lover's obvious pleasure, he couldn't make himself step back. He knew that Draco trusted his mother, but was less certain that such trust was deserved. The Auror came to his rescue. 

"You can't take him anywhere without me, I'm afraid," she said cheerily. "But I can stay at a discreet distance."

"Oh, yes." Draco looked torn. "Mother," he said neutrally, "this is Auror Tonks, who has been assigned to protect me. And she's quite right -- I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, and I have been attacked twice."

"Of course, dear." Narcissa nodded regally. Harry felt a flash of indignation at the way she acted as if the Auror's name meant nothing to her. 

He finally managed to speak. "As long as you have adequate protection." He nodded at Mrs. Malfoy, including her in his consent, but spoke to Draco. "Enjoy your lunch." 

 

That left him alone, wondering morosely how he would make it anywhere without being mobbed by reporters. A black robed figure stalked by. 

"Are you coming, Potter?" it called in passing. "Or are you planning on a repast of stray memorandums?"

Harry hurried to catch up. Not surprisingly, Snape was also accompanied by an Auror, although this one gave the impression of trailing awkwardly after the intimidating professor. 

"Thanks," Harry said, as they were hustled down a back corridor. "Draco and Auror Tonks went off with Draco's mum--"

"Idiot." Snape's disapproval was too mild to be alarming. "She loves him, but that should not be enough to give him confidence. The Auror was on her guard?"

"Yes."

"Good." 

Snape's Auror escort stepped through the Floo, and Snape followed without a word of farewell. Harry expected him to be gone when he stepped out at the Leaky Cauldron, but Snape was hovering near the grate, and immediately seized him just under the elbow. 

"If I may have a moment of your time, Mr. Potter?"

"Okay." 

Harry tried to pull loose without appearing to struggle, but Snape pretended not to notice. Trailed by the guard, they went up the stairs to the secure rooms, and Harry found himself released into a bedroom much like his own, while Snape told the Auror guard to remain outside in the corridor. 

The first thing Snape did was to write "Tureen soup, two bowls, one cup" on the slate by the door, an amenity that Harry had forgotten. That settled, he transfigured his trunk into a chair, floated it over to another chair of unknown origin, and motioned Harry to sit. Harry leaned against the back of it, instead. 

"What is it?" he asked pointedly, and Snape, who had set up pacing in the narrow space between chairs and bed, paused to roll his eyes. 

"Your sense of self-preservation still leaves much to be desired, Potter," he announced, and for a moment, Harry was afraid that he knew about last night's attack. If he had heard from his fellow Death Eaters.... Belatedly, Harry remembered that Snape was now known to have betrayed Voldemort, and the Death Eaters were unlikely to be telling him anything. 

Snape was continuing, apparently oblivious to the direction of Harry's thoughts. "This morning's scene could not have been better if we'd orchestrated it. An apparent attack on you will restore much of the public's good feeling for you. However, you are a complete idiot. If they had waited until Draco was testifying, you would be dead."

"It's a reflex!"

Snape turned and sneered at him as if he had just said something abysmally stupid. "And everyone knows it. Seekers have been assassinated that way before, you fool!"

"Really?"

"Yes." 

Severus thumped down into his chair. "You'll survive this. _We_ will survive this. You have kept your temper admirably, Potter. Continue to do so." 

"I'll try my best." Harry looked down. "I, uh, decided not to look at the papers this morning. I was afraid it would make me, um...."

"Angry?" Snape suggested. "Defensive? Yes, probably. They've picked up on the idea that you are an out-of-control mess." He shrugged. "By the end of the week, you will no doubt be a healthy young lad having a bit of fun." 

Harry frowned. "I think I'm something in between, really."

"Of course you are." Snape turned to stare at him, dark and intense even in the strangely intimate room. "People love to _talk_ about darkness and light, but truth is always grey." 

Harry laughed. There was nothing funny about it, he just felt strangely lighter at the pronouncement. 

"I don't think I'm supposed to agree with you." 

Snape settled back, a slight smirk curving his lips. "Yet you do." At a knock on the door, he flicked his wand at it, and a young woman came in with their soup. 

"Well, let's keep that between ourselves, shall we?" Harry suggested. The surreality of lunching with Snape was catching up with him. Snape had a flash of that young, sly look that Harry had seen during their lessons. 

"Indeed." 

 

Lunch with Snape bordered on pleasant, and afterwards, Snape insisted that Harry share his escort back to the trial. While they were crossing the public room, however, a familiar figure moved to intercept them. 

"May I have a word, Potter?" Blaise Zabini asked coolly. 

Harry glanced at Snape. "I'm getting a lot of that." 

"If you wish to converse, I believe we have five minutes leeway." Snape frowned briefly at Zabini before returning his attention to Harry. "I was not aware that you had other connections in my house." 

Harry shrugged. He wasn't sure Zabini qualified. "Wait then. I'll stay in sight." 

He led Zabini to the wall, moving out of earshot. "Go ahead." 

Zabini glanced nervously at Snape, but he didn't ask questions. "I want you to know that I haven't forgotten my obligation."

It took Harry a moment to sort through the formal words and recall that the Slytherin had offered to send him a bottle of something. 

"Oh, that. I thought you hadn't figured out Muggle post."

"I hadn't realized you were underage." Blaise bit his lip. "I thought it advisable to wait." 

Harry laughed. "God. When I'm old enough, I can buy it myself." At Zabini's tense look, he recalled Draco's opinion about Harry's tastes being over Zabini's budget. "Look, don't worry about it, okay? If you feel like you need to do something, you can just owe me a little favor."

Zabini looked uneasy. "How little?" 

"I'll ask when I think of something, and if you tell me that the thing is too much, I'll let it go, and you'll still owe me." 

Zabini nodded stiffly. "Accepted." 

"Good." 

They shook hands, the action formal and strange, and Harry returned to Snape.

"An agreement?" 

"That he'll do some unspecified thing for me at some unspecified time in the future. Nothing to worry about." 

"Oh?" Snape's eyebrows came up. "Worry, no. Keep an eye on? Perhaps." 

The Auror cleared his throat impatiently, and the three made their way to the Floo. 

 

Snape was conservative in his timing, and members of the Wizengamot were still trailing in when they reached the enclosure for the defense. Draco had his head lowered in a sullen manner that Harry recognized all too well. He jumped when Harry slipped in beside him. 

"Problems?" Harry whispered. 

"I'll tell you later. For now, don't get upset at my testimony. I've arranged something with McGonagall."

Indeed, as soon as everyone settled down, Professor McGonagall called Draco to testify. Harry was apprehensive, but at first, Draco hardly mentioned him. He talked about his father's expectations for him, and how he knew he was supposed to swear fealty to Lord Voldemort, and about the unusual summons home and the list of Dark curses that he was to study. Only then did he mention speaking to Harry, and Harry's insistence that he could get out of it. 

"Of course, we had to bring Hermione Granger in on it, as by then, I had got Harry in enough trouble that he couldn't go anywhere without a prefect." Draco straightened and set his shoulders back. "And yes, I _do_ mean that." He looked nervously at McGonagall. "He didn't get in that sort of trouble without me to instigate it. Not that I _wanted_ to get him in trouble, but he can be such a grim hero. I felt that he needed some time as a wild young man." 

McGonagall hesitated. Harry thought she was likely to agree with the first point, if not the second, but then she pursed her lips and lifted her head to look down her nose at him. "As I recall, you were _not_ responsible for that particular punishment, Mr. Malfoy. You were at Hogwarts when the Muggle village was attacked." 

 "Oh." Draco bit his lip, and then tossed his head in a way that seemed guaranteed to look guilty. "I was there at the start, whatever he said. I'd got us the cognac and even brought goblets. Can you imagine if the Death Eaters had known? Harry Potter, right by the village green, too drunk to fly, never mind fight, when they displayed the Dark Mark?" Draco cocked his head to the side, a slight smile on his face. Harry thought he didn't need to look so entertained by the idea. Whispers spread through the gallery.

"I am not amused, Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh, neither was I. I got him away, of course." 

"You _what?"_ Lucius Malfoy had jumped to his feet and nearly shouted the question. Hands grabbed at his sleeves. 

Draco put on a sullen pout. "He's _mine_. I don't want your lot getting their hands--"

"You TRAITOR!" His father's ivory face was red with rising blood. "I'll diso--" 

Another two people helped the defense counsel pull Lucius down to his seat, and he silenced abruptly, sagging forward into his hands as he realized how much he had said. 

"Temper, temper, Father." Draco smiled thinly. "But yes, it _could_ have been that easy, if I'd still approved of your murderous pursuits." Decisively, he returned his attention to McGonagall. "Should I tell you about the list of curses? It might be better if Aurors asked us individually for specifics. Harry and Hermione won't remember all of them, but I showed the list to both of them, and Professor Snape received another copy from my father." 

McGonagall studied him for a minute. The staccato hisses and pops of whispers continued to come from scattered locations around them. This time, Harry enjoyed speculating on what those whispers must be. _Traitor, is it? Did you see his face? Didn't sound so unwilling to be a Death Eater, did he?_ On the other hand, more than one member of the Wizengamot was rubbing his or her forehead as if to stave off a headache. 

McGonagall lifted her head. "I have many more questions for you, Mr. Malfoy, but few pertain to the trial. No, take your seat, for now."

_She's giving them time to whisper_ , Harry realized, smiling proudly at Draco as he watched him make his way back to the empty place beside him. Their hands met and clasped immediately, fingers intertwining. 

"I'm so glad that worked," Draco whispered. "I was afraid it wouldn't, and then you'd be angry--"

He looked up. Someone poked Harry, and he realized he had heard his name. 

"If you have finished your conversation, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked tartly. 

In front of the Wizengamot, that was worse than in lessons. Harry straightened, alarmed, and tried to play back the seconds that he hadn't been paying attention. She couldn't have called him as a witness, could she? 

She had. Harry slunk down the stairs, but then, noticing his manner, straightened. It was just McGonagall, right? And she wanted him to look good, really. It wasn't like he was being called by the defense. His dress robes swung around his legs, first one way, then the other, as he crossed the floor to the witness chairs.

 

It was clear that the tide of the trial had turned. When people whispered, their eyes went to Lucius more than to Harry. While Harry was talking about waiting for their arranged signal, he saw a note flutter down to the prosecution's box. Dumbledore caught it, and when Harry's testimony was over, he beckoned McGonagall over, and stood to take her place. 

"Next, the prosecution calls Narcissa Cassiopeia Black Malfoy." 

Harry's head turned of its own accord to see Narcissa rise to her feet in the gallery. She floated down the stairs in her cream robes, looking innocent and flawless as an angel. A quick glance at Draco showed him sitting still, hands folded in his lap, knuckles white from the force of his grip. 

Dumbledore nodded gravely at her. "You wished to speak, Narcissa?"

"Please." Narcissa stood straight. She looked pale and slender against the dark wood and stone behind her. It was easy to imagine that she was frail, but Harry suspected her slight form was no more yielding than a steel blade. 

"I would like to say that my husband honors his family and his heritage." As Harry silently cursed the woman, her head lifted still further. "But it would not be true." 

That produced a buzz of reaction. Harry wondered what she was playing at. 

"It is how I remember him. I have hoped and striven for the return of the gentleman that I married, but the Dark Lord has infected him with some madness more insidious than compulsion, and his decline is now more than I can conceal, with my son at risk."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "To the best of your knowledge, did Lucius take Draco willingly to be Marked?"

"Yes, of course. He had started to prepare him the previous summer. He spent much of August instructing Draco in Dark Arts." Narcissa sighed. "Including, I am afraid, at least one of the Unforgivable curses. When Draco had ... _difficulty_ mastering the Cruciatus curse, and I protested the tutelage, he demonstrated it on --" She looked down, and her shoulders bent. "On both of us."

That was it, Harry realized, as mutters of disbelief competed with gasps of outrage. _Unforgivable_ meant just that. If she made this charge stick, the trial was over. He wondered if it was actually true. He didn't doubt Lucius had cast that curse on Draco -- after all, Draco had told him so last winter, and in a late-night confession, when people often spoke truths under the cover of darkness. To commit such a crime on a proud, adult woman seemed far riskier, however, than to do so to an underage dependant. 

On the floor, Narcissa straightened. "A gentleman does not so heinously mistreat his heir or his well-born wife. I can no longer trust his judgment. That in one of his rages he would be mad enough to pursue Draco to Hogwarts Castle itself, I do not doubt." 

"You consider, then, Professor Snape's account to be more reliable than your husband's?" 

Delicately, Narcissa hesitated. "I cannot claim to trust either," she answered finally. "Severus Snape, I find, has deceived us for years about his loyalties, so I can hardly expect honesty from him. However, I know that Lucius took Draco to that meeting to be Marked for service to the Dark Lord, and that he had planned for that event with pride, so his testimony starts with a lie. No, in all of this, the one I believe is Draco, my son." Her eyes sought out her son in the crowd and she gazed at him lovingly. Then, to Harry's surprise, her attention moved to him, her look growing more speculative. "And, though I would never have thought to say it, Mr. Potter, who seems a more thoughtful young man than certain people would have us believe." 

 

Testimony continued, through a steady buzz of background conversation, but Harry doubted any of it mattered. Draco sat ramrod straight, jaw clenched, as the talking continued. When the day was over, Harry was relieved to lead him back to his room. He scarcely noticed Auror Tonks beside them, even when she tripped over a dog lying by someone's chair in the Leaky Cauldron. 

When they were alone, he took Draco's hands, but Draco didn't look at him. "Is there anything--"

"No!" Draco pulled free. "No, there is nothing you can do. I'm angry and hurt and humiliated, and _winning_ isn't helping at all, because he's my _father_ , and I don't want--" He stopped abruptly, his cheeks burning red. 

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "I can see ... there's no way it could end that you'd like, is there? But this is better than him staying at large." 

"Is it? I'm seventeen, now. A legal adult. He can't demand I return." 

"That wouldn't keep him from sending his thugs after you, would it? He's vicious, Draco. You know it." 

Draco turned away, as if the grey sky outside his window was fascinating. "I know. That doesn't make it easier. Talk about something else, Harry. Do you have plans for your birthday?"

The sudden false brightness of that query was dismaying. Harry sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's complicated. Will you keep a secret?"

That got Draco to look at him, even if his expression was scornful. "Of course." 

"All right. It's like this. Supposedly, living with my mother's family protects me somehow. Dumbledore told me that when I tried to get out of it." 

Draco nodded. "Thus the presents -- just like you have to live there, they have to give you a Christmas present each year, so the spell believes that you are family." 

Harry shrugged. "If you say so. I'm not, really, but-- Well, I suspect this protection will end when I legally become an adult." He waited for Draco's nod, and when he had received it, continued with more confidence. "Voldemort probably knows it too, so I think that he'll attack as soon as it's my birthday, and that Dumbledore will see to it that I'm not there." 

Draco's mouth twisted. "But no one has told you anything?" he guessed. 

"Of course not. Dumbledore will spring it on me right before, I'm sure." Harry hesitated. "I plan to be gone before then."

"Really." Draco stepped closer. His expression was unreadable. "And where will you be?" 

"Well, that's the problem." Harry stood. He didn't like Draco looking down at him. "Originally, I had thought here, but Tom would tell Dumbledore--"

"But you'd _die,_ " Draco amended fiercely. 

"I wouldn't go out except under the cloak."

"Even so--" 

"Since I can't get around Tom, it doesn't matter!" With a huff, Harry leaned against the wall. "You don't have a spare flat in London, do you?"

"If I did, it would have been my father's, and his associates might have ways into it." 

"Do any of your friends--"

Draco laughed. "And I'd tell them what?"

"I might be able to rent a place in Muggle London, if you'd do the Confundus charms and such for me." 

"No." Draco bit his lip. He settled into the chair. "Harry, _anything_ could happen to you there." 

"I won't stay!" 

"Calm down, Potter, will you?" Draco pushed his hair back. "Harry. Have you considered confronting Dumbledore? Tell him it's Hogwarts or nothing? Or the Weasel's place, if you'd rather." 

"He'll still keep me there as long as he can!" Harry protested. "And I won't have the Dursleys killed. They deserve something, but not _that._ And we can't feed Voldemort information through Snape anymore, so I'll need him to know that I'm missing, and there's no point in going to Little Whinging." 

"But then they'll _look_ for you! You can't stay any place he'd expect! Except Hogwarts, I suppose." With a huff of annoyance, Draco stood. "Let's order dinner. I could scarcely manage a bite at lunch, and it's been an exhausting day." 

"You're changing the subject!"

"Yes, I am. Do you think this place can manage pheasant? Perhaps if they send someone out to poach it...." 

"Stop it. I want you to help me." 

"I will not help you get _killed_ , certainly not to protect some Muggles that even you despise." 

Harry glowered. "And to keep me sane?"

"Don't be dramatic."

"Two more weeks at the Dursleys, I can take, but if it ends up capped by one or more of them dying...." 

"We will ask Dumbledore if you might come to Hogwarts. It is worth _trying_ , Harry. It would be simple, safe, and give us time together. Surely you cannot object to that?"

He couldn't object, Harry knew. He also knew that he wouldn't stop there if Dumbledore said no.

 


	6. Offers

 

In the morning, the defense waived further testimony on Lucius Malfoy, and he was found guilty of treason and three counts of using an Unforgivable curse. The attempted murder charge was dismissed. Draco gripped Harry's hand so tightly that Harry wondered if his bones would break. Draco's hold slowly loosened as the trial moved on to Talbot, but Harry wasn't sure if that was through acceptance or tedium. 

While the new defendant spoke, there was nothing to do but listen. Harry had no personal knowledge of Talbot, so he didn't even have indignation to bring him energy. The man insisted that he had been coerced through threats against his family, and Harry found himself wondering if that was true, at least in part. Certainly Voldemort would do such a thing, but would anyone who needed that level of coercion be summoned by him directly, to something like an initiation? Harry remembered Draco, when they first spotted Bellatrix, referring to the Death Eaters as an 'inner circle'. Talbot talked about Lucius casting the portkey trace -- they certainly had no compunction about throwing him to the wolves now -- and Harry mentally placed the question of Death Eater status on his list of things to ask Snape about in September. 

Whether or not Talbot was telling the truth, his testimony turned Harry's thoughts to a related problem. Even if he didn't stay with the Weasleys after his birthday, they could still be attacked to flush him out. On the other hand, that had always been true, hadn't it? Visiting the Weasleys would give Voldemort a more concrete reason to attack them; it made sense to stay away. And leaving the Dursleys should keep them safe -- certainly Voldemort would know that he didn't love them, wouldn't he? And Voldemort -- Tom Riddle -- had hated his own Muggle relatives, so there, at least, he should not invent affection where it didn't exist.

Harry wondered if there was anyone he could stay with whom Voldemort wouldn't suspect. An older friend, perhaps? The problem was that he hadn't known most of the older students well enough to trust them with his life. Oliver, for example, was only his former Quidditch captain; Harry didn't even know if he was a pureblood or not, much less his thoughts on blood purity off the pitch. The only ones he could count on -- mostly -- were the twins. His thoughts spiraled down through a cataloguing of prospective hosts. It was only when he heard Percy's voice that he realized that they had reached the end of the morning session. 

"My room?" he whispered to Draco, and Draco nodded. But when they reached the floor, that plan was thwarted. Dumbledore was waiting for them. 

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter," he greeted them cordially. "Please join me for luncheon. We have matters to discuss." 

 

The old wizard led them to the Floo and sent Auror Tonks ahead. After a few seconds, he offered the Floo powder to Draco. "Dunhorse Cottage," he said, and Draco nodded. 

"Harry?" Draco prompted, rather than tossing the powder on the grate. Harry nodded and took some as well. If Dumbledore was trying to separate them, it wouldn't work. He tossed the powder down immediately. 

"Dunhorse Cottage!"

 

He stumbled out into the low-ceilinged kitchen of an old farmhouse. The beams over the stove were black with the smoke of centuries, and the mingled scent of stone and cooking was solid and warm. By the window, Tonks was talking with an older woman. They looked over at Harry's arrival, and Tonks waved. Draco stepped through behind Harry. Immediately, he started over to the window, snagging Harry's arm in passing. Harry suspected that he had wanted to look outside, not to socialize, but the view was of a walled garden that could have been anywhere.

Before Harry could say anything, Dumbledore arrived. 

"Ah, Petra! Thank you for hosting us."

"My pleasure, Professor Dumbledore," the woman answered, dropping a slight curtsey. "Lunch is on the table, with tea and pumpkin juice. Shall Miss Tonks and I leave you to your meal?" 

"That would be welcome, Petra. If you don't mind, Nymphadora?"

Auror Tonks hesitated, but then gave a brief nod. "Under the circumstances, I could wait in the next room."

"But--" Draco protested. Dumbledore motioned him to silence. 

"She knows this place and our hostess, Mr. Malfoy, and rightly believes that I can keep you safe here."

"And I did check for anomalies," the Auror added. "Don't think I'm just taking their word for it. This place is even blocked against Apparation, in or out. Oh, and sir?" She grinned cheekily at Dumbledore. "You'll understand if I lock the Floo. Kingsley would expect it of me." 

A flick of her wand towards the grate, and she left. 

 

Once they were alone, Dumbledore sat at the table, checked the teapot, tsked, and then gestured to the platter of sandwiches.

"Please help yourselves," he urged. "I vouch for anything Petra made to be both safe and tasty. Now. I thought both of you might want to know how we expect the week to progress. Each guilty verdict makes our further cases easier, as you might imagine. Harry, unless something unexpected happens, I don't believe that we will need you to testify again." The old wizard checked the tea a second time, and found it ready to pour. He filled Harry's cup, and then Draco's, while Harry fidgeted impatiently. "Draco, you may take this afternoon off. However, since you can speak of the defendants' visits to your father, we will need you to stay for the remainder of the trial. After that, I believe you have some post-trial legalities to attend to?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. I'd like to retain my inheritance -- what the Wizengamot doesn't take as 'reparations'. Under the circumstances, Father's move to disinherit me is suspect, and my solicitor believes we can have it overturned, but I will need to speak to a few people in person, at best." 

"Yes, of course." As if contemplating the matter, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. "I should tell you, my boy, that Severus has expressed some concern about your safety. At his behest, I have spoken to the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and I have persuaded her to extend your Auror protection for a week past the end of the trial, or until you return to Hogwarts, if that is earlier. I do not think you need worry about your next departure -- by then, your potential attackers will no doubt have moved on to more recent adversaries." 

"About returning to Hogwarts," Harry advanced. "Could I come back there too? Rather than spending more time at the Dursleys'? I don't want to endanger the Weasleys, but the school is safe, and--"

Dumbledore held up a hand, and Harry, not without resentment, stopped. 

"Your aunt's house is still the safest place for you, Harry, if just for a little longer. I don't want to sacrifice that protection before we absolutely must." 

"I think waiting until the last minute--"

"Harry. No." Dumbledore sighed. "I am sorry, but no."

 

After lunch, Dumbledore returned to the trial, and Tonks escorted Harry and Draco back to the Leaky Cauldron. 

"I'm on until six," she said. "Is that to be active duty, or sitting in the hall duty?" 

Harry glanced at Draco before looking back at her. "We need to talk privately," he said. "My room. After that, I think we'll want an escort in Diagon Alley."

Draco's eyebrows came up. "Will we? I suppose I'll see." He nodded at the Auror. "His room, then. I'm afraid you'll need to wait outside." 

"I know excellent cushioning charms," she said archly. "An unsung specialty of field Aurors." 

 

"So," Harry said, once the door was shut and the privacy charms cast. "Hogwarts is out. But I have an idea."

His eyebrows rising, Draco leaned back against the bed. "Do tell." 

"The twins--"

"Absolutely _not_. Don't you think people will look for you--"

"But the new place!" Harry interrupted excitedly. "That shop they want to buy! It won't be ready to use yet. They'd still ward it though, right? Because they'd want to protect their secrets and the things that they're moving in, and it would be perfectly _normal_ for them to come by at strange hours with takeaway and odd bundles--" 

Draco's eyes lit up. "Now _that_ could work. Wait a moment. Let me think." He paced back and forth, while Harry took his place at the bed. Finally, Draco stopped. "All right. Don't ask them directly, though. I said I was going to negotiate this deal for you, and I will. Wait until I've given them terms they can't _quite_ accept, and then you come in and say you want to hide there for August, and I'll ease up on something else to compensate. If it's part of the contract, even vaguely, we can bind them to secrecy." 

"Contract?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You were planning to do this on verbal agreement and a handshake?" He sighed. "Oh dear. You were."

 

When they told Auror Tonks that they wanted an escort down to Fred and George's flat, and then privacy once they were there, she cheerfully shook her head. "I can stay out of earshot," she said, "but I need to have you in sight." 

"You left us at lunch time."

" _With_ Albus Dumbledore," she said firmly. "In a known and warded house. Sorry, but this wouldn't be the same."

Harry wasn't about to discuss his summer plans in front of her. In the end, he ended up writing to the twins and requesting that they come to Draco's room at the Leaky Cauldron within the hour. 

Fred and George showed up within minutes. George looked around the room and his eyes narrowed. "Where's the fire, Harry?"

"Dumbledore may send me home today. I needed to talk to you before that." 

The twins still looked put out. Draco stepped forward. "I understand you were interested in estate capital?" 

"Estate..."

"Yes."

"Harry?"

Before Harry could formulate an answer, Draco had stepped in front of him. "Since my lover has a highly generous nature and several appallingly obvious weaknesses, and the two of you are capable of getting people to _pay_ for sweets that make them break out in spots and vomit, _I_ will be handling the negotiations. Harry, please stay out of the way."

Harry, much to the distress of the twins, nodded. 

"Harry!"

"What has he done to you?"

"You can't be leaving us--"

"-- to a Slytherin." 

Harry smiled. "As the Slytherin, I think this is more his sort of job than mine. Don't mind me; I have some summer assignments to work on." With that, he sat down in the armchair to peruse Draco's Charms text. The first time one of the twins appealed to him, he looked up, but let Draco wave him off. After that, he ignored them. It was surprisingly amusing.

Finally, it was Draco who said his name, and Harry put down the book and walked over. Fred was looking mutinous and George worried.

"Having trouble?" he asked. 

"If we take his terms, you'll own more of the shop than we will!" Fred exploded. 

"Well, he has provided most of the capital, so far," Draco said, as if this were eminently reasonable. 

"And they've provided all the research and ideas," Harry objected mildly. "I'm not sure I'm due a third, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Which is why you should not negotiate the price of a polishing charm, never mind a business contract."

"Harry, really! We can't afford what he's asking."

"You'd be stuck supporting us for years."

"We can't ask Mum to, you know."

Both twins had turned beseechingly towards him; behind them, Harry caught Draco's amused look. "Okay," he said amiably. "Let me look at the terms so far." 

The contract as Draco had drawn it up wasn't too bad, until he got to the item that gave him sole ownership of the property, and laid out a high rent -- optionally payable in increased shares -- for any month that shop profits dropped below 15%. While his finger rested under that item, Draco's nails pressed significantly into his back. 

"Draco, this bit seems unreasonable."

"Thank you, Harry!" George exclaimed.

"Because it is!" Fred added.

"We could lower the percentage," Draco said doubtfully. 

"No, you're missing the point," Harry protested. "I don't _want_ to be the owner of record. That's just trouble. Actually ... I have an alternative proposal."

"Harry...." Draco warned. 

"No, listen. You can argue it with me if you like, but I want you all to hear this."

"If you must. We did start with a secrecy binding for the negotiations." 

Harry had heard them, but he was grateful that Draco would point it out. 

"Good. Here it is, then," Harry said. "Much more than all this extra money, I would like a secure and secret place to stay from a few days before my birthday until school opens in September. This would be perfect. I'm willing to strike this item altogether in return for living -- unofficially -- in the shop during that time, with the two of you bringing me food when needed and keeping my location absolutely secret -- including from Dumbledore and members of your family, no matter how worried they might be."

"I'm not sure it's of comparable value," Draco objected. 

"Draco, Voldemort is trying to _kill_ me. It's comparable. Fred? George?" 

The twins exchanged a glance, and then nodded. 

"We knew you'd be reasonable, Harry."

"Once we could get your attention." 

"We'd have to get the shop ready while you were there, though."

"I'm counting on that to make it look natural," Harry said. "I'll even help. Just make sure the loo works, as soon as possible. Draco, draw up the contract, and we'll all sign it."

"Now?" the twins asked together.

"You want to get your money before Dumbledore sends me back to the Dursleys' right? If we do it now, we can go down to Gringotts while Draco's bodyguard is still on duty."

Another, longer look passed between the twins, but they agreed. Draco set about preparing the contract. 

 

"I don't know how I'll survive six weeks without you," Draco murmured, as he brushed sweaty hair back from Harry's brow. After leaving the twins outside Gringotts, Harry and Draco -- with Draco's Auror guard -- had returned to Draco's room, where Draco had sent Auror Tonks away for an hour, and without delay, led Harry to bed. 

"Is it six?" Harry had to stop and calculate the days. It was hard to keep track of weeks without a calendar. 

"More. Seven weeks from Monday last."

"Damn. And there'll be no way to visit; you can't leave Hogwarts and I can't go there." Harry propped himself up on one elbow. "Maybe they won't send me back right away?" 

"You don't believe that."

"No. Not really." 

Draco sighed, but this time it was more theatrical. "Back to my lonely existence at a deserted school!"

"Better than sharing a three-bedroom house with people who hate you," Harry said darkly. 

"Tedious, though," Draco protested. "Even Severus isn't always there, and regardless, he can't abide the Quiris, so I've taken a room up the corridor from his." 

"The Quiris, right." Harry hadn't given the creatures any more thought. They might not be any trouble at all, he reflected. After all, he didn't plan to do any more Dark Arts. But there was still the matter of what he was going to do about Voldemort, and there were so many people to protect. He knew there was nothing he wouldn't do, if it came down to a question of Draco's life. After all, Lucius Malfoy was right, in a way. He _had_ seduced Draco away from his family and into danger. What Lucius hadn't seemed to understand was how little it had taken to do that.

"So," he asked, trying to sound merely curious, "how long is 'not permanent'? You never said."

"Unclear," Draco answered. "Madam Horsyr expects to be back in a few weeks, but she may not be able to take them with her at that time, either. If so, I could have them for several months more. Also, if this arrangement works, I've said I might take them again later." He laughed at the expression on Harry's face. "Really, now! They're a Potter creation; you ought to be proud to be reunited with them."

"They've addled your brains."

Draco shrugged gracefully. "Possibly. They do decrease my options in some ways, but they expand them in others -- I doubt there is any other way I would have the headmaster's trust -- and that is arguably of more current value than the option of using Dark Arts." He shrugged. "Though I rather miss sitting with Severus in the evenings, even if we hardly said a word to each other. 

"Why didn't you?" 

"He doesn't like frivolous conversation."

"But the Quiris can't answer."

Draco nodded, but didn't say anything. Harry sighed. "You're more social than I am. I wouldn't mind as much."

"I don't know why I do. I was often alone during the summer, but it was different in my home and my gardens." Harry could see a twitch at the side of Draco's jaw. "I hope I'm back in Slytherin in September." 

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"Because I'm a traitor, of course," Draco said flatly. "For understandable reasons, perhaps, but I still am." 

"Draco! You are not." 

"Traitor," Draco recited, "one who betrays a cause." 

"But it implies faking loyalty to do people in," Harry objected, "and I think it's usually used for countries, and anyway, you have a right to change your mind, and to tell the truth about being in danger."

"I know I do," Draco answered, but his head was too high, and his face too empty. "I just don't know if Pansy still wants to have dinner with me. She never replied about rescheduling. And I want to go back to my dormitory, but I don't want to be murdered in my sleep." 

"I'll sneak in and protect you; how's that?" Harry suggested. 

"Mm." Draco's coolness began to recede. "Perhaps you should lie on top of me to shield me from attacks."

"As long as you don't expect me to stay still!" Harry answered with a laugh. 

They had just begun to kiss, and Draco was rocking suggestively against Harry, when they heard a knock on the door. 

"Damnation," Draco muttered. Grabbing his wand, he dropped the silencing charm that he had put in place hours ago. "What is it?"

"Professor Dumbledore is here to see you," Auror Tonks called. "He seems to be genuine. Professor Snape is with him." 

After a panicked glance at each other, Harry and Draco jumped out of bed and began scrabbling for clothes. "Just a minute," Draco called. Their garments were confusingly intermixed, and Harry couldn't find his shirt. When Draco straightened the bedclothes, it fell clear of them. As soon as they were both presentable, Draco patted down his hair, cast an air freshening charm, and walked over to the door. 

"Hello, Sir," Draco said brightly. "Please come in. Severus," he added, with a polite nod of greeting.

Harry leaned back against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. He had an idea what was coming. 

Snape looked around the room with notable suspicion, but Dumbledore, in contrast, had a slightly questioning air, which Draco ignored. 

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" he asked blandly. 

"As it happens," Dumbledore replied, "I was looking for Harry, but it is probably for the best that you were together. Harry, Professor Snape expressed a willingness to escort you home."

"To the Dursleys', you mean." 

"Do not be difficult, Potter," Snape snapped. "Whether you like it or not, it is your home, and it is my time that you are wasting with this pointless defiance. You will be packed in ten minutes."

Professor Dumbledore shook his head slightly, but did nothing to intervene. Harry got the impression that he would gladly have used another ten minutes of Professor Snape's time to get to the point gently. 

"Fine," he said sullenly. "Come on, Draco." 

With a bland smile, Draco gestured his guests back to the door. "If you don't mind...? We will meet you at Harry's room in ten minutes." 

"Excellent," Dumbledore replied, as if everyone had been cheerful about the arrangements. In the hallway, he briefly laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I appreciate your maturity and cooperation, Harry. I know that your Aunt's house is not your first choice of dwelling place." 

Harry nodded silently, afraid of how his voice would sound if he spoke. He knew that the praise would have made him feel guilty, even six months ago. He now realized that it was intended to influence him to cooperate, and instead of guilt, he just felt anger, and a surge of satisfaction at the escape he had planned. 

Draco followed Harry into his room and watched while Harry changed back into his jeans, and then gathered things from chairs and the floor and threw them hodge-podge into his trunk. 

"Oh, stop that!" Draco said finally, and with a wave of his wand sent everything flying back out of the trunk and onto the bed. 

"Draco!"

"Use a _spell_." 

"I'm underage still, remember? I try to reserve magic for when I need it."

"Oh." Draco smirked. "Not at school, you don't." 

"Right. And I don't think twice in a fight."

Draco nodded. "All right. _Colligio_ _!_ " 

He gestured at the things on Harry's bed and then at the trunk. Books settled at the bottom, clothes folded themselves neatly and formed piles on top, and miscellanea clustered on top of the clothes. 

"Thanks," Harry said. "I'll have to try that in a few weeks." 

"It helps if you've gathered everything in one spot," Draco said. "Otherwise, the charm may try to pack things you don't want. And the first time I tried it, I was too forceful, and it packed the bedclothes as well as everything on the bed."

They looked at the door. 

"Well," Harry said lamely, "This is it, I guess." 

"Yeah." A light pink crept up Draco's cheeks. "Thank you, Harry. For being here, I mean. For the things that _weren't_ fun."

Harry bit his lip. "Any time. Look, don't worry about Pansy, okay? She'll get over it, or if she doesn't, she isn't really a friend. That shouldn't depend on you doing what she wants in politics."

" _You_ want me to share your political outlook." 

"Yes," Harry said stubbornly, "and we fought, and I understand fighting, but I was willing to go on with you even if you didn't." 

Draco looked absently past him, at the light of the window. "I know you were under a lot of pressure from your friends not to."

"Yes." 

"She's not as good with that. Status among her friends is very important to her."

"You said Buls-- Millicent was a neutral."

"Millicent isn't a usual companion for her, though. That's why it was significant that they approached me together. She spends much more time with Daphne and Cassandra."

"Cassandra?"

" Cassandra Vere. She's a year younger than us. Dennis Avery is her mother's cousin."

Harry hadn't ever thought about Death Eater relatives who might not share a name with the ones he knew. "Does Avery have any kids in school?"

"Not anymore. Both of them are older than us. I think one is work--"

There was a sharp rap at the door. "Time's up, Potter." 

"One moment!" Draco called back, as Harry grabbed him. "Fuck!" he whispered. "We forgot a silencing charm!"

"Too late now," Harry said, and pushed into a kiss. They kissed fiercely until a voice outside the door began to count. 

"Ten. Nine. Eight--"

"Hell," Harry growled. "I'll write, I promise. It'll be okay." 

"Five--"

"All right!" Harry shouted, and opened the door. "Honestly! Can't we say goodbye?"

"You have had ten minutes to do that." 

"I had to pack!" 

Draco smirked. "He was doing it by hand, Sir. Since he _is_ underage." 

Snape glared at Harry. "What a curious time to begin obeying rules, Potter." 

Harry reddened. "It's not like I knew any packing charms anyway." 

"But you are ready now?"

Harry looked over at the trunk. After a moment's scan of the room and one look under the bed, he got back to his feet and nodded. "Yes, Sir." 

"Let's go, then." Snape nodded at Draco. "Leave the room first. The locking charms require that." 

"As you wish, sir." With a smart bow to both of them, Draco left the room, closing the door behind him. To Harry's surprise, Snape then gripped his arm as if about to drag him off somewhere. 

"Sir?"

"I will apparate both of us. Take hold of your trunk."

 

 

Harry was glad he had apparated with Remus and Sirius previously. He didn't stumble, but he still felt a little queasy as he appeared with Snape behind the rubbish bins at the Dursleys'. They stepped out from behind the wall just as Vernon's bellow of "What was THAT?" roared out through the open dining room window. Snape looked questioningly at Harry.

"My uncle," Harry murmured. "So, um, thanks for the lift, but I can take it from here." He hefted the heavy trunk and started to walk towards the door. To his surprise, Snape continued to walk with him. 

"Look," Harry puffed, "Uncle Vernon doesn't like strangers. Especially our kind. Or even, you know, Muggles that dress weird."

"How unfortunate for him." 

Harry grinned at the cold humor. "I don't much care if it's bad for his heart, Professor. I'd just rather he didn't take it out on me when you leave. And you _are_ dressed weird." 

"Am I?" Snape asked coolly. "The Muggles won't notice. I am surprised that you do." 

They had stopped on the top step before the front door. Harry looked over at his professor. He could still see Snape as he knew he was -- cleaner than usual, and in formal robes, with his hair pulled back in a tie -- but overlaid on that was Snape in an impeccable black suit, over a silver-grey shirt. 

Harry's eyes widened. "Excellent, Sir!" 

"But you can still perceive the robes?"

Harry nodded. "I can see the suit if I look, though."

"Absurdly strong-willed," Snape muttered, but before he could continue, the door opened.

"Who's skulking out on my--" Vernon began, and then froze. His face twisted into a scowl as he recognized Harry. "Oh, _you._ Back already, is it?" Without waiting for an answer he turned to Snape. "I'll take him from here," he said. "Get inside, boy, before the neighbors see you." 

Snape stepped smoothly forward, blocking Harry from entering the door. 

"I am afraid," he said to Uncle Vernon, "that I must confer with young Mr. Potter before I leave."

Vernon eyed Snape, clearly weighing the expensive-looking suit against the man's association with his nephew. "And who are you?" he snarled. 

"I am one of Harry's professors, and the Head of Slytherin House."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Vernon roared, his face growing red with anger. "I don't allow your sort in my home. This is a decent house, you know, and I won't have my wife and son exposed to more abnormal freaks from That School. Bad enough that we have to house the boy --"

Vernon silenced suddenly. His mouth kept moving, but no sound came out. With a look of terror, he fell back, and Snape stepped inside, pulling Harry after him. 

"I do not recall saying that you had a choice."

"Vernon?" came Petunia's high voice. "Who's there?" He head appeared around the wall, and her eyes widened. 

"Your nephew's escort," Snape said coldly. "We will go to his room. If you do not complain or interfere, I may restore your husband's voice before I depart." 

 

"Okay," Harry said, as the door closed behind them. "Here's my room. Why are you here?"

Snape looked around at the nearly empty space, but did not comment on it. "I wished to talk to you," he said baldly. "Why else would I arrange to be the person who escorted you home?"

"What?" Harry asked.

"Have you heard that Draco Malfoy will be keeping the Quiris?" Snape asked. 

"Two of them."

"Two too many. You realize the intent?"

"Dumbledore will know if Draco practices any Dark Arts, and he expects to know if I do."

"Precisely." 

Harry looked incredulously back at the scowling potions master. "You can't think you needed to come here to tell me that."

"No." Snape raised his eyebrows. "I came to ask if there was anything you wished to learn before the first of August." 

Harry stared. "Oh," he managed finally.

"You don't have much time," Snape pointed out. 

Harry nodded absently while counting in his head. He had only a fortnight, and he expected to be hiding for some of that. "What could you teach me?"

"What do you need to know?" Snape countered. "There are thousands of spells that will never be mentioned to you at school. The Praetermissius Charm is one you would find useful. You cast it on yourself to go unnoticed. It does not make you invisible, and will not guard you against people who are seeking you, specifically, but someone who sees you pass will not notice you are Harry Potter. It is good for hiding in crowds."

Harry swallowed. He could travel, walk through Diagon Alley, sit anywhere at school.... "Don't teach me that," he said.

"Oh?"

"I would never stop using it. I would use it to go to dinner at school. I would use it to walk into the Leaky Cauldron. I would spend the rest of my life hiding." 

"I see." Snape looked curiously at him. "How _unlike_ your father." 

"Well, he probably had the option of not being famous. What else?" 

"There are many spells which block off or enhance feelings in yourself or others -- jealousy, anxiety, recklessness, caution -- almost anything but hatred or love."

"I've heard of love spells." 

"A misnomer. Such spells cause or enhance lust, devotion, sentimentality, or receptivity. They do not cause real love." 

"Why would I want to affect my own feelings?"

"It is less common, but I have, for example, used _immisericors_ on myself when I thought I might be tempted to show mercy at a time when I must not. In such a case, you need to remember to use a compound incantation that ends the spell at some preset time or condition." 

"Is the Killing Curse the only one that kills, or is there one that would get me in less trouble?"

Snape smiled thinly. "It is the only one that kills without a cause. There are many spells to do things that will cause death." 

"Like burning someone's bones."

"Yes."

"Anything more subtle? Could I cause a severe stroke?"

"A ... what?"

"A rupture of blood vessels in the brain. Or heart failure. Or failure of some other vital organ or function, like breathing."

"All of those. None kill immediately, however, and all can be blocked, deflected, and countered. A trained Auror could also detect all as magically induced."

"Huhn." Harry sat back and tried to think. Morals aside, what would be the most effective way to destroy Lord Voldemort? The problem was, he realized, that he had no idea. He didn't even know if he could. Naturally, there were hundreds of ways he could fight the Death Eaters, with or without Dark Arts, but he had no idea what, if anything, would work against Voldemort. Choosing Darker weapons would not necessarily make him more successful. 

"Is there a spell to find a person's weaknesses?"

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "There, you are talking about Divination, which is not one of my strengths."

"Well, don't send me to Trelawny. She's useless."

"Predicting the future is unreliable from anyone, but seeing that which is present and hidden is another matter. I could guide you to someone of more skill."

"Someone who won't betray me?" Harry asked warningly.

"Yes, at least not willingly. Of course, learning Voldemort's weaknesses will be difficult. Many people have tried. At minimum, you need some bit of him."

Harry nearly laughed. "Will my blood do?"

Snape hissed in surprise. "Oh yes." His eyes gleamed. "That would do indeed! But then the Seer can find your weaknesses, as well."

"I suppose I need to risk it."

Snape hesitated, but rather than the caution that Harry had expected, he extended another warning. "By using blood as a component, you will make the divination legally Dark Arts. There is some ... thaumaturgical basis for that, as well. You should expect to compensate the Seer well for the risk. And you may wish to keep it from the Weasleys -- even yours."

Harry looked intently at Severus Snape. "And any other training from Draco."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Would you hide such a matter from your paramour?"

"I don't know. I mean, I think I'll probably tell him when we're together. But for now, you did not make me this offer, and I certainly did not consider it. Anything further that may happen therefore did not. Agreed?"

"I am not completely certain I should be doing this," Snape confessed. He nodded. "However, that only leads me to agree with you. This did not happen, so there is no reason to mention it to Draco." 

"I _will_ tell him about the divination, if it is useful, but I'll tell you beforehand what I plan to say, so that our stories agree." 

Snape's mouth twisted. "Forewarning would be appreciated, this time." 

 


	7. Seeing

 

Harry spent most of the next two days thinking about what to ask, not just of the Seer, but of Snape. He had expected Snape to return at night, but it was ten o'clock on Monday morning when he heard the front door slam violently closed, and then, equally violently, slam open. Aunt Petunia shrieked. He ran to the stairs, his wand out, only to find his aunt cowering in front of Professor Snape. 

"You!" she shrieked, but with a touch of desperation, as soon as she spotted him on the steps. "Tell this man to leave immediately!" Her face tightened. "And put that _thing_ away!" 

Harry shrugged and sauntered down to the first floor, sliding his wand out of sight with deliberate slowness. "Can't see why," he said. "He never listens to me, either. And any way, he's much better company than you and Dudley."

"How dare you say such a horrible thing!" Aunt Petunia gasped. Snape stepped forward. 

"Indeed, it is damning with faint praise. I expect I am 'better company' than a Blast-Ended Skrewt, in that case." His eyes raked Harry up and down. "Put on some decent clothes, Mr. Potter, and I will escort you to our meeting." 

"Robes?" Harry asked. 

"I did say 'decent', did I not? Of course, robes!"

With a sidelong glance at his aunt, Harry snorted, nodded, and headed back upstairs. 

 

They apparated to a windswept field that overlooked the ocean far below. Curls of white speckled the grey water, and Harry's robes whipped about his calves. He felt a spiral slide up his arm as Susara moved further from the draught of his jacket cuff.

"Atmospheric," Harry commented. "When you showed up in the middle of the morning, I thought we might be apparating into an office block."

Severus turned back from starting down a faint path. "You expected a Seer to receive you in the dead of night?" he asked, his eyebrows rising. 

Harry shrugged. "Seems more mysterious. Who would have guessed Seers worked business hours?"

They walked together down the mild inland slope. Harry watched the ground to avoid sheep droppings. 

"You may, perhaps, have taken the wrong impression from my warning that this divination will be Dark Arts. There is nothing particularly Dark about the witch we will be seeing; she is merely practical enough to know all her tools." 

"Ah." Harry wasn't quite sure that he understood the distinction. He himself, he decided, was moving towards that line, but he was under very special circumstances. He wasn't sure he would trust many people who knew Dark Arts. _Well, Snape, of course, but that's different, too. I sort of think of him as someone who was a Dark wizard, but isn't really anymore._ Harry looked sidelong at Snape. Perhaps he thought of it that way because Snape was more ambiguous than he wanted to deal with. "So -- have you told her who she'll be seeing?"

"Of course not! She is a half-blood and no friend to the Dark Lord, but the temptation -- and the risk -- is too great." Snape rolled his eyes. "And it's 'whom.'"

"You brought the money, right?"

"As we agreed. I trust you will repay me promptly in September." 

"Of course." 

 

The witch's house was a grey stone cottage with larkspurs blooming by the gate. An enormous grey cat greeted them just as they stepped onto the garden path, and wove between Harry's feet, purring loudly. The door opened as they reached it, and Snape pushed forward to enter first, his wand drawn.

"Professor Snape," said a pleasant, lilting voice. "Please sit down. There's tea on the table." 

A grandmotherly witch was sitting by a table, turned so that her hands were visible where they lay in her lap. She smiled at Harry warmly, without even a flicker of surprise. "And Mr. Potter. So good to meet you. I am Madam Langston. Pardon me for not offering my hand -- I cannot touch anyone until after the reading, and I'm afraid one of you will need to pour, as well. Sit." 

The table was square and sized for four -- two places, at one corner, had teacups. Snape sat next to the witch, leaving Harry to take the chair across from her. 

"I suppose you cannot drink the brew, either?" Snape said sourly, suspiciously raising the knitted tea cozy to peer at the teapot underneath. From the rest of the decor, Harry expected English porcelain, but instead, it was a beautiful Chinese pot, ornamented with a coiled dragon. Ignoring Snape's disapproval, he lifted it and poured for both of them. As if this ended introductions, the witch turned her chair towards the table, and the grey cat leapt into the remaining chair and sat there, looking curiously at Harry.

"Er, is that a cat?" Harry asked, and then at the looks he got, winced. "I mean, full time?"

The witch laughed. "Unlike your head of house, you mean? Yes, my Greyling is a cat, but also my familiar, and so he has a genuine interest in the proceedings." She cocked her head and looked at Harry. "You don't have a rat. What interests him?"

"I have a snake. A torclinde."

"Ah. An unusual thing to wear concealed."

Harry was about to say that he sometimes discussed things with the snake, but Snape cut him off. 

"The boy's pets are not your affair. You cat will know not to attack an animal carried by a wizard, correct?"

"Yes, of course. As long as the snake stays on Mr. Potter's person, it will be safe." She focused on Harry. "Now. Professor Snape did not tell me who would be visiting, but he did say that you wished me to perform a blood divination on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -- one to search for weaknesses. Is that correct?"

"Er... More or less."

She frowned. "In what way 'less'?"

"Well, the blood is--" Harry swallowed. "A servant of Volde--" 

The cat hissed. 

"I must ask you not to say that name here," Madam Langston said, frowning. 

"Right. Um, so the Dark Lord's servant made him a new body from, among other things, my blood. Since that blood is also his now, we hoped that you might be able to do the divination with blood from me." 

"I see." The Seer looked thoughtful. "That would explain why I-- Well, it's of no matter now." She tapped a dirty fingernail on the table. "It is possible that it will work," she said, "however, I cannot guarantee it, and the risk...." 

"You will be compensated for divination by Dark Arts," Snape cut in, "whether or not the results we hope for are achieved."

"Good. To start with, I must have the payment. You brought it?"

"In silver, yes. I trust there is some reason for that bizarre request?" As he spoke, Snape removed a small pouch from each of his side pockets. From the way they pulled down on their strings, they were heavy, and Harry was not surprised when Severus tapped the first one with his wand and it quadrupled in size. He did the same with the second. 

"Spill it on the table."

"Would you like it counted too?" Snape sneered, but the Seer merely smiled. 

"No. Spilled into a small heap. I will know if it is enough."

"I hardly think that shows talent in farseeing," he answered disdainfully, but spilled the coins out as instructed. One landed on its edge and rolled off the table, but the grey cat leapt from its chair in pursuit, and then returned with the Sickle in its mouth. Delicately, it placed it on the heap, before returning to its seat. 

Madam Langston drew her wand, which was pale and wavy, and moved it over the pile of silver, muttering under her breath. Slowly the coins blended into a single mass, which she then drew out into a shallow bowl. The more tarnished coins left lines of grey and black that marbled the surface as it hardened. 

"Now," she said, "we have the vessel." She levitated a flask over from the sideboard, bringing it to rest beside the bowl. "Next, we need the blood. Mr. Potter, please tell me where on your body you were bled, and by what means." 

"I..." Harry felt a trembling start deep in his gut, and tried to keep the surface of his body still. He could remember the details all too well: how tightly he was bound, the flat headstone unyielding against his back. 

"Inside the right elbow." He took a quick breath. "With the point of a knife." He pushed up the arm of his robe to bare the skin. His hands, to his disgust, were shaking.

"I could restrain you," Snape offered, drawing his wand.

"No!" Harry knew he must look wild with fear. "No. I mean, that would make it worse. More like-- I'll stay still." 

"While being cut?" Snape sounded a little incredulous. 

"Yes." It was calming, somehow, to have the horror reduced to physical matters. "I can take pain."

"I see." 

Madam Langston had drawn a little knife. Harry could see the ground edge of the blade, where the polish changed. Snape's wand came down between his eyes and the bright metal. "I will do the bloodletting," he said.

"No," she said firmly. "I must wield the knife." 

He snarled audibly. "Fine," he replied. "However, I keep my wand out and on you, understood?" 

She nodded serenely. "I understand why you protect him. It is not needed, but I do not take offense. Your arm, Mr. Potter?"

She put out her hand, and Harry, although conscious of each lost inch between them, still extended his arm in one steady motion. His dread spiked as her fingers closed around his wrist. 

"No!" he said, and she looked up, surprised. "No restraint," he explained. "You can steady my arm, but don't hold it." 

Snape snorted. "I now know one thing that you and your paramour _don't_ get up to," he commented slyly, and Harry, taken by surprise, laughed in quick, rough breaths. 

"I can't believe you said that!"

"You are breathing now, are you not?" 

He was, Harry realized, and he nodded gratefully. "Go on," he told the woman, as she pulled his arm over the bowl. "I'm ready." 

The actual pain was bearable. He wasn't sure that either of them had believed that he would stay still, but he did. He stared down at the knife point and imagined that he was alone, floating forward onto it, because it would bleed Voldemort out of him. Slowly, the point touched, pressed, penetrated, and he exhaled into the pain, willing the blood out with his breath. 

He might have overdone it, because he didn't think blood should bubble out like water at a spring, but with only a slight yelp, she tilted his arm to the side so the blood flowed into the silver bowl. 

"Damn it!" Snape exclaimed. "That's enough!"

"Cover the bottom," she whispered. "Cover...." For three heartbeats more she steadied his arm, and the blood dripped red and warm, and then, with a soft breath out, she folded his forearm up. "Done." 

Feeling suddenly real again, Harry looked into the bowl. That was a mistake. His head swam at the sight of so much of his blood, displayed in that vessel like some garish punch, and he was only vaguely aware of the warm itchy feeling of a healing spell on his arm.

"Here." Smooth glass was pressed to his lips. "Blood Replenisher. Drink. I will not have you wasting my time by fainting."

The voice helped him look away. "Er ... thanks, Sir." After the first awful swallow, his head slowly began to clear. It was reassuring to think that his dizziness had not been entirely emotional weakness. Harry tried not to look at the bowl again, but the motion of the Seer lifting her flask drew his eye. She tipped it over the bowl, and a muddy liquid flowed out of it and dripped down to collect in a green-grey puddle in the dark blood. With her wand, she stirred the air above the bowl. 

"Blood of man, blood of vine, blood of earth, all combine," she chanted, and the two thick substances mingled in ugly swirls, spiraling fully around the vessel before she lifted her wand. As they stilled, the change started. The grey lines blurred into the red, and together they altered, becoming a single liquid, transparent and ruby-bright. Once again, Harry could see the lines of tarnish in the silver at the bottom of the bowl, but now they seemed to move and twist, almost as if they were about to form into a picture. If he could just get a little closer....

_"Master?"_ Susara's uneasy voice hissed, and he jerked his head up. 

"Try not to look," Madam Langston said soothingly. "It will not spoil the divination, but you will find it unpleasant." She cleared her throat. "Now I must anoint myself. Once I have done that, you may ask me one question, and one question only. Do you understand?" 

"Yes." 

Harry took a deep breath. He and Snape had discussed questions by owl, but they did not have enough information to identify anything specific. They would start, this time, with a general inquiry, and hope it provided them with some sort of lead. Snape had said that if this worked they could return to ask a more targeted set. Harry watched the Seer. She dipped the tip of the middle finger of each hand into the blood mixture, and then touched them to her eyelids, leaving a bright red spot on each. Despite its clarity, the potion was still thick enough not to drip. Next, she extended her index fingers, and dipped those. With them, she traced just outside her lips, outlining her mouth in scarlet. Harry shuddered. 

"As I see," she said distantly, "so I speak." 

With that, she leaned forward to look into the bowl. 

Harry looked nervously at Snape, who nodded. He cleared his throat. 

"What is Voldemort's greatest weakness?"

He remembered, afterwards, that he was not supposed to use the name, but that hardly seemed possible to avoid in this context, and indeed, even the cat did not chide him. 

Madam Langston stroked the sides of her bowl as if it were the face of a lover. 

"Pure blood, mixed blood," she said, her voice sing-song. "Mingled blood, the enemy within. Could have been an ally, would have been, might have been, but the move was wrong. You must know your enemy before seduction."

Harry nodded. The time he had talked to young Tom ... well, if Tom had understood him better, and he hadn't known about his parents, and Ginny hadn't been lying there dying ... well, then it might have worked.

"Seduction, sweet," she continued. "Grey eyes, laughing, and a ghost cries. A monster rises from the cauldron...." There was a longer pause, and then, her voice still vague and dreamy, Madam Langston commented:

"That would be Him. I'm getting more of you than Him, I'm afraid. Mixed blood, shared blood, not something to sort like corn from chaff." 

The cat shuddered all down its body, as if it had been picked up against its will and had just escaped. Madam Langston crumpled down in her chair moaning. Severus scowled. With a sigh, Harry leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"So much for that." 

Madam Langston raised her hand wearily. "Wait. A cup of tea. A moment." 

Nodding, Snape refilled Harry's cup. "We will give her a few minutes to recover. Still, I did not find it promising." 

"Well, the first part was about him," Harry protested. "Or him and me. The first time we talked to each other." 

" _Talked_?" 

Severus sounded incredulous. Harry felt his shoulders tighten. "He wasn't fully corporeal, so it was all he could do," he explained, "and he did try to, well, win me over." 

"Ah. Don't tell me more here, but I want the full story later." 

Madam Langston straightened. For a moment, she just stared straight ahead, and then, shaking herself much like the cat had, summoned a cup of water. 

"Not entirely successful," she said.

Snape snorted. " _Useless_ , you mean." 

The Seer was not cowed. "The vehicle was too ambiguous, but I did see Him, at the start. Not as he is now, but as he was, years ago...."

"Which does not convince me that this could work."

She lifted her head. "Not with me, not with this blood. There are other ways we could try." 

"Other than my blood, you mean?" Harry asked. He thought she still sounded a bit strange. 

"Yes, of course." She looked away. "None so pleasant...."

That was a horrifying idea, Harry thought, recalling the swell of his blood. 

Snape was not so put off. "What would you require?" he asked. 

"Best would be the body of a victim," she said, still looking blankly past them, "someone he took power from killing. Not my Calvin, no, he was only killed by servants, let him rest--"

"No," Harry said, horror turning his voice to iron. 

"But it is no harm to the dead. The other is worse -- unicorn's blood, I Saw that it might--" 

Harry jumped to his feet. "I will _not!_ "

"Hush, Mr. Potter," Snape said quietly. "I quite agree." He also rose to his feet. "Have you any tenable suggestions, Madam Langston?"

She looked at them hesitantly. With a soft "wow!" the grey cat jumped to the table, and from there to his mistress's shoulder. 

"You truly intend to slay him?" she asked Harry. For the first time since the Seeing, she sounded rational. 

"Yes." 

She nodded. "Because of that, and because I value your trust, I will tell you: there is nothing more I can do." Quickly, she held up a hand to stop him from leaving. " _However,_ one who knows you well might be better able to filter your presence from their Sight. He _is_ of your blood; you were right about that." With that, she rose to her feet. The cat swayed slightly, but stayed on her shoulder. "I advise you to look closer to your heart for guidance, Harry Potter, and I wish you the best of luck."

" _Evanesco_ _!_ "

Harry and the Seer both jumped at the incantation, and the cat hissed. Snape was just tucking his wand away. Madam Langston sputtered in indignation. 

"I trust you to a certain point," Snape said coolly, "but not, my good witch, with Potter's blood. You will find your pretty new bowl unharmed."

Turning, he seized Harry's arm, and before Harry knew what was happening, he was being squeezed unbearably by the inward force of Apparation. When they popped out on the other side, Harry stumbled, tried to catch himself, and crashed into a bush. 

"Yes, I can see why your grace is so widely admired, Potter," Snape said dryly. 

"Oh, piss off!" Harry snapped, as he brushed leaves and twigs from his robes. "I'm only graceful in the air." 

"Do you think so?" Snape asked idly. He didn't sound like he expected an answer, so Harry didn't give him one. 

"Why didn't we just apparate to my room?" he complained.

"It's--" Snape stopped for a moment. "It's just not _done_ ," he said finally. "Of course, neither is apparating out of someone's house, but I didn't want both of us to have our backs to her." 

"So she creeped you out too, huh?" Harry asked. "At the end?" He had recognized where they were, now -- between the shed and the bushes at the edge of the park. He pushed his way out into the sunlight, Snape following behind him. A vaguely familiar woman stared at them, wide-eyed. "Crap!" he said at a whisper, looking down at his robes. 

"Don't worry," Snape said, his voice low. "I cast a weak glamour. She should see your usual clothing."

"Good." Harry relaxed. "Come back to the house? I think we need to talk that over."

"Unquestionably." 

 

 

They discussed the divination, and Harry told Snape about what had transpired in the Chamber of Secrets, and why he thought that was what the Seer had drawn on. Snape concurred, especially as Madam Langston had said that the Dark Lord had appeared in his original form. 

"Still, that event, as a weakness, only tells us that he is arrogant, and we knew that."

"Arrogant and not a pureblood," Harry pointed out. "I've mentioned that to a few of his more dogmatic followers." He sat down on the bed. "Feel free to transfigure yourself a chair, by the way." 

Snape studied him. "Draco?" he asked. "Early on?"

"Not so early," Harry countered. "And even so, he didn't believe me. I think he does now." 

"So you believe it may have been of use?" 

Harry considered. "Possibly." He grimaced. "He had other reasons to lose faith." 

"Hm." Snape looked down to where he was running his fingers along the edge of the small table by the bed. "Another thing about which I am curious, Potter...."

"Yeah?"

"Blaise Zabini." Snape's eyes snapped up and bored into him, and Harry couldn't keep from laughing slightly. Of all the things for Snape to latch onto!

"It's nothing, really," he said. "He was around when I, you know, lost all those points, and he appreciated it, and I've decided I should get to know the Slytherins better."

"You should?"

"Well it's a bit of a waste, isn't it, just assuming they're all enemies? I'm still cautious." Harry bit his lip for a moment, thinking, and then looked up. "I'm going to need them. Gryffindor courage is all well and good, but it won't be enough." 

For at least a minute, Snape studied him silently. Finally, he turned slightly away. 

"You could ask for re-sorting, you know. It's not common, but there's a spate of it every hundred years, or so."

Harry shook his head. "That would ruin everything," he said lightly.

Snape scowled. "Ruin?"

"Think about it. If I'm in Slytherin, what have you got? Another house member -- powerful, I suppose, but capable of losing points by the hundreds -- and a lot of media attention focused on your house." Snape still hadn't sat, which made Harry uncomfortable. He got to his feet and began to pace. "But if I'm in Gryffindor, _then_ you have an ally." Snape's eyes flashed up as he understood. Harry continued anyway. "An ally with some portion of Dumbledore's favor, some sway with Gryffindors, and more of the community trust. Also, many opponents will underestimate my guile, and how far I will go to win. Isn't that better than another Slytherin?"

Snape nodded. "When you put it that way." He relaxed enough to lean back against the wardrobe. "But what do you want in return for this _alliance,_ Potter?"

"The craft of your house," Harry replied baldly. "All that I can win over." He grinned. "And your willful ignorance when I sneak into Slytherin to shag Draco, of course." 

Snape coughed. 

"Well?" Harry demanded. 

"There are ... certain things of which I am always willfully ignorant, Potter -- part of the arrangement between myself and my house. Any matter of willing sex is beneath my notice." 

"Drinking?" Potter guessed. "Dark Arts?" Snape nodded to the first, then hesitated at the second. "With either," he said. "I may have a little talk, or several, with the student in question, depending on how I see the matter developing." He looked archly at Harry. "However, as you are not re-sorting, none of that should affect you. _You_ will still need to deal with McGonagall, and with anxious Gryffindor prefects."

Harry shrugged. "Anxious, yes -- but not, I think, as aware."

 


	8. Letters

 

  


* * *

  


July 21, 1997

Draco,

On the recommendation of the person who brought you this letter, I went to a Seer, hoping to get some information that would help us with strategy. The divination was less successful than we had hoped. We used my blood, for obvious reasons, but that caused the Seer to pick up more information about me than about the target, because of the mingled blood. She said we might be able to work with the blood of a fresh victim, or maybe with unicorn's blood. Neither, obviously, is acceptable to me. 

Once she was convinced that I would not return to her with either of those things, she made one additional suggestion -- that someone with the Sight who was personally closer to me might be better at filtering me out of the divination. Are you any good at that? 

Harry

  


* * *

  


July 21, 1997

Dear Harry,

Divination has never been one of my skills. As you know, true divinatory abilities are rare, and frequently when they do manifest, it is at levels that can go unnoticed. 

Have you considered Ron Weasley? I have oftentimes recalled the divination that he performed last spring -- quite informally, and without any belief in his own skill. I think you rather can be regarded as having pissed on the House Cup, and your House was certainly divided. Might he be persuaded to venture into blood divination? I would be happy to research potential scrying potions and rituals. 

Incidentally, drop the absurd attempts at circumlocution. I've included a few strands of my hair, so you can charm letters to only appear to me. I, of course, long ago took the precaution of collecting a few of yours. Anyone else who picks up this parchment will see a very boring account of the weather in Scotland, and of how I tossed off into the lake.

Kisses,

Draco

  


* * *

  


July 21, 1997

Mr Potter, 

I know we have never been on such familiar terms as to exchange correspondence, but I need to communicate with you about Draco. I know that you believe he is happy with you, and for the moment, he seems to believe he is happy with you, but you must understand that this is not a healthy relationship for him. In order to please you, he is behaving contrary to his nature. For the moment, he may find this worthwhile, but he will eventually come to resent you. Surely you can see that as a Gryffindor, you will eventually either overpower him, completely subsuming his personality to yours, or fall victim to his manipulations and lose your own? 

I beg you, if you care for him as you have claimed, to end this relationship now, while you are still apart and may both have time to heal. 

Regards, 

Miss Pansy Parkinson

  


* * *

  


July 22, 1997

Dear Draco

If Ron really has the Sight -- and that's a frightening thought -- well, he knows me about as well as anyone. The problem is that it would be Dark Arts. I'm not sure how I'd convince him, and I'm not sure what we'd need. Have any advice? 

Did you really wank by the lake? Or are you just trying to drive me mad with imagining it? I haven't done anything at all sexy -- they don't even let me take long showers, so I just get off under the covers, fast and hard. I think about you, though. 

On another subject, I've included a letter I received from Pansy Parkinson. What the hell?

Love, 

Harry

  


* * *

  


July 23, 1997

Dearest Harry,

Please disregard Pansy's well-intentioned interference. I told her about the Quiris, and she can't believe that keeping them would be my decision. We, in contrast, know how little I am pleasing you with that act. Also, as I had no difficulty performing when she had sex with me, she cannot believe that I am genuinely attracted to my own sex. I am, Harry. As you know, you are not even the first man that I physically indulged in, and I preferred even him to her, so you need not worry that you are somehow inducing this 'unnatural' reaction by force of will. 

You may laugh, Harry, but don't be angry at her. She sees how I love you, and it frightens her. She feels she must protect me, since I will not protect myself from you. Accept it, as I accepted Hermione's suspicion, and she may learn to trust you as Hermione trusts me.

As to the other matter .... You know Weasley better than I do, of course, but the approach I would consider is to emphasize that your life is at stake, and the safety of his world is at stake, and to perform a blood divination for you would therefore be a heroic (Gryffindor) disregard for the rules, rather than a selfish (Slytherin) disregard for the rules. That is, as far as I've ever been able to determine, how your lot think about it. Of course, Gryffindors are just as selfish as anyone else, so also stroke his ego (delicately!) with how rare such a skill is, and how impressed you would be if he succeeded. I am sure the promise of your admiration would entice him to do almost anything. 

Also, of course, avoid the phrase 'Dark Arts' for as long as possible. Tell him that it is 'illegal', that it has 'elements of Dark Arts', that it is in the 'nebulous area of Grey Arts', that it is 'somewhat Dark.' Emphasize the risk, rather than moral judgments, if you think that will entice him as it does you. If he enters the act not fully understanding, he will forgive you. You forgave me, after all.

I want you. I am remembering all our fights from last year, and more so, each time we reconciled. I remember after I found out what you had done with Snape -- what I required, and how you looked at me, kneeling shirtless in the cold Chamber, hot with changing emotions. I would demand a different forfeit now. I'm imagining that, imagining pushing aside your shirt and sitting on that low table in its place, so close to those lips you are biting to full redness. I part my robes and banish my trousers and tell you to win your forgiveness with submission to my pleasure. You, of course, are wide-eyed and shocked, but brave above all, and lean forward to take my erection in your mouth, but you keep your eyes up, watching me. Absorbing me, and how my face changes to the motion of your tongue. (I'm so hard, Harry -- I'm lying in bed with a hand down my pants in the most undignified rut, using a damn dictation charm to capture words.) You are beautiful sucking me, and your eyes close as you find your own pleasure -- so surprised, Merlin! I tell you to touch yourself for me. I want you to enjoy this, and you do, squirming until I pull you up to writhe against me and 

You

Aaaaa. Gods. 

Fuck. You're so

Harry!

Hm. There are drawbacks to a Dictation charm, obviously. 

Really, I think you would have hit me with a Stinging hex and run away. Tell me a fantasy instead. 

Love, 

Draco

  


* * *

  


July 24, 1997

Ron,

This letter is not for anyone but you. If you're not alone, wait until you are, and don't tell anyone about any of this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still there? Okay. I went to a Seer. Not to the kind that makes prophecies, but someone who tries to see things far away. We gave her some of my blood (told you you couldn't tell, but that makes sense, right? Think back to the Tri-Wizard Tournament) for her to try to see something about Voldemort, so I could find a way to defeat him. 

The thing is, she couldn't quite. The blood idea worked -- she got bits of things about him -- but she got more about me. She thought that someone who was close to me would do better, because they could filter out me without even thinking about it much. 

Annoying, really. Now I have to figure out if anyone I know could do that -- and would. The use of blood makes it illegal, of course, though really, it's my blood, and I think I should be able to say who can use it. Don't tell Hermione, though -- you know how she can get about stuff like that.

How are things at the Burrow? 

Harry

  


* * *

  


July 24, 1997

Dear Draco

You drive me mad, you know. Reading your last letter, imagining what you wrote about, and then picturing you touching yourself while you spoke for the quill -- absolutely mad! I spent so much time wanking that I fell asleep right after, and didn't get anything else done last night (like replying to you). I had really good dreams though. You were in all of them.

Sometimes I think about last winter, and the times I missed you trying to let me know you were interested. Nothing would have happened in your room -- I was far too drunk -- and I didn't get why you were worrying about which bed to use in my dormitory. But remember when you talked me into jumping out the window? I flew back in all elated, expecting you to be impressed, or at least amused, and instead, you shouted at me about how stupid I was. After the night in your room, I was certain that you didn't intend to kill me, but that was the first time that you sounded like you cared. 

I was confused and you were frustrated that I didn't understand, and sometimes I imagine that -- that instead of looking away, you grab my shoulders, and when I'm bracing for a push, yank me close and kiss me. And then it all makes sense, and I don't have to think about it, because Gryffindors can do that afterward, you know. And your mouth is sweet, and your lips are strong, and I won't break free to say yes, so I pull you down, and we tumble to the carpet, and I pull you close, and your body is light and hot, and I move against it while I kiss you back, because I don't know what else to do. 

When we pause for breath, you take the lead, ever so lightly, and lead me to the fire and begin to undo my shirt. We start out slow and deliberate, undressing each other, and your skin is so beautiful in the firelight that I want every inch of it bare. I kiss the smooth inside of your arm, where the Dark Mark isn't, and I tell you no one but me can touch you there. You don't promise, but you pull me down for more kisses, until our touches turn frantic and haphazard, and we push at each other, grasping for skin, until we come on the carpet, and stray clothes, and each other, and you laugh at my inexperience, but not in a bad way, and I tell you I'll learn, but all the time, we're tangling up in each other again, and we fall asleep there, in the warm flicker from the flames. 

I love you. 

(But I can't write it, see? Perhaps I can learn that too, but I'd rather just be with you.)

Harry

P.S.: (And believe me, I'm adding this rather later!) What would we need to do a blood divination at school? Snape's been in on it here, but he would rather not know details when it happens there, I think, so the more supplies that I can get in advance, the better.

  


* * *

  


July 26, 1997

Fred and George,

Would it be possible for you to come and fetch me on the 28th? I could get there on my own, but I think you could do a better job of obscuring my trail than I could on my own. 

Harry

  


* * *

  


July 26, 1997

Harry, 

You have no idea how much has been written on the subject of scrying with blood, and how hard it is for me to access any of it. If you were here, I would borrow that cloak of yours, but I won't risk having you without it for days. I'm longing for the library at Malfoy Manor! 

Be warned, therefore, that this information is based on the most cursory of preliminary investigations. I expect that we will studying the subject for all of September, at least. So far, however, I have identified several substances that appear to be frequently used in a blood-enhanced scrying, and encountered many warnings about how more common scrying liquids are often ruined by the addition of blood. For example, hazel is useless. Here is my current list: 

\-- Beryl (even with blood), but I don't know what color yet.  
\-- Spring water  
\-- Pomegranate seeds (from a whole pomegranate)  
\-- Sphinx feathers (or, less powerfully, Great Eagle feathers)  


I also think that in your particular case, something from a Red Cap (bone or hair) might strengthen the work, because of the multiple murders he has committed in attempts to murder you. Using Red Cap elements could draw power and focus from his blood guilt. Actually, now that I think about it, it may also provide a means to integrate the actual blood to less compatible substances. We can look into that once you're here.

Spring water and some varieties of beryl are readily available from the student cupboards, and you could probably get a pomegranate from the house-elves, but the others you will need to obtain through some other means. Red Cap parts, of course, are restricted items associated with Dark Arts, and will present the most difficulty, but Sphinx feathers won't be easy (or cheap!), and Slugg & Jiggers would make you sign for them, if they can get them. Perhaps you will be able to sneak down Knockturn Alley, at some point? Caligula's Cauldron (I know it sounds like some sort of dodgy club, but it's really an apothecary), past the Troll and Club, will sell anything to anyone, given enough incentive, and would probably be able to obtain Red Cap parts. I'd advise against stealing from there -- the proprietor has protections that don't rely on seeing you -- but you'll need a glamour to avoid the risk of blackmail. He doesn't violate charms that alter your appearance; he wouldn't have any customers if he did. Other people in the shop might try anything, though, so be careful. Actually, you might want to use the glamour to get someone else to go for you, or something even more convoluted. 

your Dragon

P.S.: I like your writing. Now I want you in front of a fire. Maybe next Christmas?

  


* * *

  


July 26, 1997

Mr. Potter,

Hi, Harry! (If you can't place the name, I'm the Auror who was watching Draco Malfoy, and happened to be his cousin.) I had the honor to be one of the questioners for Lucius Malfoy's Veritaserum interview, and a little bird told me that I should be sure to ask for names. I cannot tell you what unexpected name emerged, but a trusted source informs me that you would know, and would find this information encouraging. 

If anything else is declassified, I'll let you know. 

Cheers, 

Auror N. Tonks

  


* * *

  


July 27, 1997

Harry,

We can talk when you're at the Burrow. Mum wants you here for your birthday, though we can't have a party, really. I wish we could. It's not right that you miss that when you're coming of age, even though it's during the summer! 

Things have been mind-numbingly dull here, except for when they've been utterly mad. Charlie showed up unexpectedly, with some girl that no one had heard of before, and some Romanian chap that we had heard of before, but who was piss-poor at Translation charms. (Not that any of us are great, mind, but we're not the ones traveling to some other country.) We never knew what he meant, because what he was saying couldn't have been it. They stayed for three days, in a tent outside, with Charlie refusing to take his room, and Mum desperately trying to suss out if he was involved with the girl, and Ginny desperately trying to suss out if he was involved with the bloke. I'd say you corrupted her, but she has a point. With Charlie, it's hard to tell -- he hugs everyone. It's bizarre. After three days, they left, and then everything was boring again. 

I think those laws were to keep people from taking other people's blood, but then they wanted them harder to get out of, you know? Anyway, I'll see you on the 31st, I'm sure!

Ron

  


* * *

  


July 27, 1997

Harry, 

Your seventeenth birthday -- a momentous occasion -- is approaching, and you have doubtless been awaiting some communication in regards to the invitation extended by the Weasleys. I assure you that I have not forgotten the matter, but there are still factors in play that delay my decision. However these settle, you shall see me soon, and you will not remain in your Aunt's house past July 31. All else, I must tell you in person. 

On a more cheerful note, we may be making progress on your godfather's exoneration. I believe you have heard news from a certain Veritaserum session. That has given our friends in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement the justification needed to reopen certain cases that had previously been closed as resolved. 

I hope that you are enjoying your holiday as much as possible under the circumstances, and taking no unnecessary risks. 

Best regards, 

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry 

  


* * *

  


July 27, 1997

Harrykins --

We'll be there. You can't complain if we make you dizzy! Be packed. 

~~\--F &G~~ ~~G &F~~

~~Fred~~

~~George~~

~~Fred~~

~~Weasley & Weasley~~

The Terrible Two

  


* * *

  


July 27, 1997

Harry,

Good luck.

Draco

  


* * *

  


July 29, 1997

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,

On my birthday (July 31, if you don't know), I will become an adult in the Wizarding world. At that time, certain protections on me end, and I think if I'm still here, you and Dudley will probably be killed. Oddly, I don't want that, so I'm leaving now. I will not be returning. To be safe, I suggest that you go somewhere else from July 30 through August 1. Here's a little gold to help you with the expense. 

Harry

  


* * *

  


July 29, 1997

Sirius and Remus,

Please don't be alarmed when Dumbledore tells you that I'm missing. I know my protection at home will end in a few days, and it seemed like a better idea to get out early than to wait for an ambush. I'm being careful, I have the cloak, and I'm as safe as I can be -- and the Dursleys and the Weasleys are a whole lot safer than otherwise. 

I'd meet with you if I could, but I'd need a promise that you won't betray me to Dumbledore or Mrs. Weasley or anyone else, and since I expect owls can be followed, I'm not receiving them, so there's no way for you to give me a promise, even if you would. I'll write to you, though. I know you'll feel better if you hear from me regularly. I think I'll make it every other day, though some of them will just be 'Hi, I'm alive' notes. 

Don't worry. I'm being careful.

Harry

  


* * *

  


July 31, 1997

Ron,

Sorry about not showing up today, and I hope your mum's not having fits, but I didn't want to wait until the last minute to leave and endanger everyone. Even the Dursleys don't deserve what they'd get from Death Eaters. 

I'm safe, I'm lying low, and I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express. Don't try to reply -- I'm not accepting owls. 

Best wishes,

Harry

  


* * *

  


July 31, 1997

Dear Hermione,

I know what I'm doing. I promise. 

See you in September,

Harry

  


* * *

  



	9. Alterations

 

Harry yawned, stretched, and pulled out some fresh clothing from his trunk. He started to pull on the jeans, and then, wrinkling his nose, cast a cleaning charm on himself. The shop had a loo, but no bath or shower, and he probably ought to visit the twins' flat soon; cleaning charms could only do so much. On the other hand, he was finally an adult wizard, and could at least cast them unnoticed. 

Once he was dressed, he finished last night's Thai noodles, wrote a short note to Remus to have the twins send later, and then conjured a mirror to set a glamour on himself. Susara rippled across the table to look at the new object. 

_"Hi, beautiful,"_ he said softly. _"You were asleep."_

_"Now, I am awake,"_ she answered simply. Her scarlet tongue flickered out. _"Why this ice?"_

The mirror, she meant. Harry smiled. "I _am going out, but I cannot be seen, so I am changing my appearance. I can see what I am doing in the ice."_

Curious, Susara circled behind the mirror and then back in front of it. She didn't seem to notice her own image. Harry brought his hand to the surface and touched his fingers to their reflection. He could feel her understanding. It reminded him of light returning as the sun emerged from a cloud.

_"Clever, Master,"_ she said approvingly. _"After this, will you change your scent?"_

Harry laughed. _"People are not good with scent."_

Her upper third twitched back in surprise. _"How sad! Even you?"_

_"Even me,"_ Harry informed her. _"So I only need to change what I look like. It would be easy, if I did not have this scar."_

She reared up, coming strangely close to his eyes to look at the scar. He could feel her distaste as she tested the air in front of it. _"It feels like another man."_ She sent a flash of frustration. _"Not scent, exactly...."_

_"It was left by an enemy,"_ he explained. _"My enemy. Magic cannot change it, but if I make my hair look like just the right red...."_ He found the color in the mirror. _"There! Now the lines of it look like the hair above. It becomes hard to notice."_

That done, Harry made himself look heavier, especially in the face. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he extended his hand to Susara. _"Do you want to ride?"_

With a flicker of tongue and a warm feeling of agreement, Susara spiraled onto his wrist and up his arm. Harry put on his Invisibility Cloak and slipped out the deliveries door into the narrow walk between the twins' future shop and the next building. It was time to scout Knockturn Alley. 

In a hidden alcove a few doors down, he took off the cloak and stowed it in his bag. From what Draco had said, he gathered that some shops had security charms that would detect an invisible person entering. It was safer to be seen. 

The people on the street were just as unpleasant as he remembered, but from an adult perspective, he found more of them pathetic than frightening. Of course, he amended to himself as he sidestepped a grab from a hunched man with sharply pointed teeth, the scary ones might actually be more frightening now. What he found himself watching for was not hags or half-trolls or wild-eyed addicts, but the people who were a little too well dressed and too focused for the area... 

"Come inside, good sir," a voice invited him. "We have the most eager young girls--"

... a class that apparently included him. Harry shot the speaker a contemptuous look and kept walking. 

The Troll and Club was a rowdy, dirty pub, with dried vomit on the street in front of it and streaks on the walls. Without it, Harry would not have seen Caligula's Cauldron. The entrance was discreet, the windows darkened, but the stench, when he entered the place, horrific. All apothecaries smelled odd, but this one smelled like dead things, and Harry tried not to think too much about what 'anything' could include. Susara tightened around his arm. 

An old man, two stray teeth lost in his wrinkled mouth, grimaced at him from behind the counter. 

"And who are you?" he spat.

Harry tensed. "A potential customer," he huffed. For a moment, the man looked him up and down, and then he gestured at the shop, which ran in one narrow room, bisected by waist-height bins and barrels, from front to back. Harry glanced at the bins and the dimly lit shelves, but had no desire to look more closely at them. Instead, he stepped up to the counter. 

"I'm looking for--" Something from a Red Cap, he meant to say, but the words wouldn't come out. "-- Sphinx feathers." 

The man's eyebrows, which were thick and tangled, came up. Harry got the feeling that they didn't do that often. Indeed they descended back into a scowl almost immediately. 

"You could look a long time," he said. "Sphinxes are rare enough. Winged ones?" He spat on the floor. "Vicious besides." 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. "I was told that you could get things. Rare things." 

"For those that has the gold, yeah, I can." 

"I expect I do."

"Don't dress like it."

"You expect me to walk down Knockturn Alley in silk?"

"Toffs don' walk down the Alley." The man sneered at him. "They floo in straight." 

Harry rolled his eyes. He had to work to keep his head still, so that his scar would stay covered. "How much," he said clearly, "for two sphinx feathers?"

The man snorted, but he looked more interested now. "Sixty G apiece," he answered. "If I can get 'em. All up front." 

Harry knew he should talk the man down, but being treated as too poor to deal with rankled. "Forty-five," he countered. "None up front." 

"So you can steal 'em when they come in? Get out o' here." 

Harry took out his purse. He had fifteen galleons in it, and another fifteen hidden in an inner pocket of his robes. It was enough, he hoped, to impress. "I'm good for it," he said, spilling money into his hand. 

"That's not ninety." 

"I don't carry ninety on a scouting trip." 

"Well, I don't order without prepayment. Give me your name and address, and I might consider it." 

"Give me your floo name, and I might come back with more." 

"Caligula's Cauldron."

Harry nodded. "Simple enough. If I order, what surety will you give me?"

 

After he left Knockturn Alley, Harry still felt like the grime of it was clinging to him. He needed to go somewhere normal, he decided, and settled on Flourish & Blotts. He could get a book on far-seeing or possibly something on hexes. As he entered the shop, he wondered where he could find information on Red Caps. Draco's theory on their usefulness made sense; he _knew_ it did. The problem was, that he couldn't help thinking of them as sort of people-like -- too much so to use parts from. Were they really, though, or were they just people- _shaped_ , like doxies? They were vicious, he knew, and he wouldn't mind killing one in a fight. Buying parts, though, seemed macabre. Bones, especially, might look like the bones of a child. He shuddered, remembering the apothecary on Knockturn Alley. A place like that might actually try that counterfeit, if they thought the customer couldn't tell the difference.

Flourish & Blotts had a Dark Creatures section at the top of the Magical Creatures shelves, and there was an adults-only section at the back of the shop that he had heard was more Dark Arts than sex -- maybe that would have information on potions. Feeling uncomfortable, he ducked into the empty Household Charms section and swung his cloak on. 

As Harry was hurrying towards the restricted section of the shop, a large bulk suddenly cut into the stacks in front of him. He dodged as best he could, but there was little leeway. He didn't fall down, or lose the cloak, or crush Susara, but he crashed into the other person, who lurched forward, spilling books on the floor around him. She dove down to gather them -- it was Millicent Bulstrode, he realized -- slammed bruisingly into his legs, and froze.

"Watch it," he whispered, crouching. Remembering his promise to Draco, he thought he ought to help with the books. He decided it was safe to let his hands emerge. "Sorry, Bulstrode. I'm wearing an invisibility cloak." 

"Go away!" One of her large hands grabbed at the book he was holding, and the motion startled Harry into looking down at the cover. _Permanent Sex Change with Potions_ it read. Harry was still staring when it was pulled from his hands. 

"Tell me who you are, _now!"_

"Harry." He pulled his right hand back to ready his wand. "Harry Potter."

"Oh fucking hell! Look it's just research, got it? If you say a word to anyone --"

"What?" Canceling the glamour, Harry pushed back the hood of his cloak to meet her eyes. "Look, why would I--" 

Breathing heavily, like someone about to attack, she stared at him, her small eyes sharp in her heavy face. "Name your price," she said flatly.

"No price." Harry shrugged. "It's all right, Bulstrode." 

"NO, IT ISN'T!" Bulstrode dropped her voice. "Perfect little Granger will send me witch's empowerment pamphlets, and my _parents--_ "

Harry was distressed by the near-hysterical tension behind the words. "I won't tell. I swear." He looked down at the more generic _Dark Draughts,_ picked it up, and handed it to her. "Look ... can you maybe do me a favor? If you're planning -- oh hell, this is awkward. Come somewhere where we can talk privately?" 

She looked at him grimly. Harry wondered if he was going to be hit, but she merely stood and nodded. "Let's go." 

She was still expecting him to name terms, he realized suddenly. He could blackmail her. Embarrassed, he flipped the hood of his cloak back over his head. "Come on, then. Buy your books and we'll go. The Leaky Cauldron will do."

 

Bulstrode walked silently down the street, her wrapped purchases clutched to her wide chest. She didn't say anything as she entered the Leaky Cauldron, and he whispered for her to wait while he spoke to Tom. When they were in the back salon, and Harry slipped his cloak off, she remained silent, staring straight ahead like a soldier on review. Harry was still wondering how to begin when Tom appeared with a platter of cheeses, breads, sausage, and apples, and a pitcher of ale. Harry nodded, thanked him, and threw in an extra five galleons with his payment, hoping that was enough to keep the man silent, at least for the hour. Tom tugged respectfully at his cap and closed the door behind him when he left. Harry cast his own privacy charm at it. 

He sat down and cut a slice off one of the apples. Bulstrode was still standing. "Sit," he said.

Stony-faced, she sat. "Your price, Potter." 

Irritated, he let out a harsh sigh. "Will you _listen?_ I _won't tell._ Have some food, will you?"

"If it was that simple, you wouldn't have paid for a private room." Despite her words, she poured herself a mug of the ale and sliced a chunk off the sausage. 

"Look," Harry hazarded, "I don't have any idea of how magical sex-change works, but I saw you had potions books. Shouldn't there be a charm for that?"

She laughed harshly. "Dozens, Potter. They work in seconds and can be undone as quickly." 

"Is that a problem?"

"Yes, it's a problem! If my parents can just grab me and change me back, don't you think they _will_?"

He shrugged and took some of the cheddar. "No idea. Raised by Muggles, you know." He grinned at her. "Enlighten me." 

"My parents have money, but because of my grandfather, _not_ status. And despite efforts that I hear _far_ too much about, I'm an only child. They want me to make a good marriage." 

"Couldn't you marry a girl?" The look she sent him was so withering that he had to qualify. "As a man, I mean." 

"I understood _that."_ She scowled. "No. It's unacceptable. Scandalous. I'll be considered damaged goods. The only reason for anyone to marry me would be for _me."_

She smiled slightly at that, despite her fear, and in that instant, Harry knew that he would help her in any way he could. He had to take a swallow of ale to clear his throat. 

"Do you really want to be a man, though?" he asked. "Or just to avoid being married off?" 

She sighed and stared at the bread in her hands. "Look, I'm a _horrible_ girl, and I'll be even worse as a woman. The troll blood shows too much. And I don't _like_ it, either. I'm much happier as a Slytherin Beater, where I'm treated as one of the boys....." 

_Troll blood. That's true, then._ "If you're a man, though, you'll still...." He trailed off, realizing that he had left no tactful way to continue. 

"Be a hulking, coarse-featured goon? Yeah. Sometimes people don't mind that in men, though."

"I--" He looked at her -- really looked -- at her rough face and broad torso and muscular arms and intimidating height, and tried to imagine that she didn't have breasts the size of melons. "Okay. I can see what you mean. You wouldn't be my type, as a bloke, but you'd be impressive."

She sat back, looking relieved. "Thanks." Her face screwed up in a sour smile. "So...."

"So it looks like you're planning to do something with potions." 

She nodded. "Somehow. I've heard there's a six month course that would take years to reverse...." Trailing off, she shrugged. "I'm still researching, though. Now why do you care? If, as you claim, you _won't tell_?"

This was it. Harry realized that he was nervously turning a piece of cheese into crumbs, but he couldn't manage to stop. "Look, I need to obtain some proscribed ingredients, and I expect that you do too, is that right?" 

She sighed. "Obviously."

"It's occurred to me that those purchases may actually be less suspicious made together. I mean, the things I want may indicate what I'm doing, and the things you want may indicate what you're doing, but if one of us buys both...."

"I'm not taking your risks for you, Potter. I haven't even figured out how to get what I need myself." 

"I'm one of 'us' too, you know, and I have potential connections." He traced the grain of the tabletop between them. "What do you need?"

"Not from Professor Snape." 

Harry sighed. "No. Well, I'll get some things from him, but no, I wouldn't risk anything of yours, and most of mine can't be through him, because Dumbledore might find out, and curiously, I no longer want Snape fired. _Other_ connections."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're offering to help me."

"Yeah."

"What do you _want,_ Potter?"

He had to answer that with something, he realized. She would never stop being suspicious if he didn't. "Well," he said, "look after Draco for me? I mean, I can't protect him in Slytherin, and you're strong...."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I can do that. Not in his dormitory, obviously, but in the Common Room and in the corridors. Will you keep him from reporting me? If I need to be out late brewing?" 

Harry nodded. "I can arrange that. I might even be able to get you a safe place to do it." 

"Yeah?" 

"I've brewed long term potions on the sly before." He grinned at the look on her face. "Okay, I've helped Hermione do it -- better?"

At Hermione's name, she made a face. "Less frightening at least." 

Calmer, now that she thought she knew his price, she topped off her ale and leaned back in her chair. "So, did you mean it about buying for me?"

"Possibly. Why don't you do your research, and we can discuss what you need next week?" 

She nodded. "Meet here, same time?"

Harry wasn't sure it would be safe to come back here, now that he had revealed himself to old Tom, but he considered it. After a minute, he shrugged. "It might be safe; it might not. Just come to Diagon Alley, okay? And I'll send you a message." 

She snorted. "Paranoid much, Potter?"

"It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you," he returned with a grin, and got back a laugh in response. 

"True enough. Same time next week, then." 

 

Harry finished his beer, put on his cloak, and left the Leaky Cauldron on the Muggle side. He came back an hour later, in the guise of the red-haired man, with provisions for three, and made his way back to the shop. He found Fred and George there, busily setting up their workroom. 

"Hi. I brought food." 

"We found your note." 

"Are you supposed to be out?"

"I was careful."

One of the twins snorted and looked meaningfully at the food that Harry was laying out on the top of a crate. 

"Not enough," the other said. He peered at the round, glossy buns. "What are those?"

"The label said 'pork bun'. They're from Chinatown -- in Muggle London, and I used a glamour." 

"Why were you there?" 

"I've never been. And I was bored, and I'm not likely to be noticed, there." He grinned. "And the gate has a Gryffindor color scheme."

"So you bought food you couldn't identify?" George picked up one of the buns, bit into it, and twitched.

"Isn't that the point?" Harry countered. "Is it awful?" He picked up another one.

"No -- good, really."

"That's not what your face said," Harry observed, but took a small bite off his, anyway. 

"I was just startled. It's sweet."

"Let me try." Fred pounced on the remaining bun. "Mm." 

"Anyway," George said, "glamours are chancy."

Harry shrugged, the motion tight. "I can't stay here all the time, though. And I have things I should buy."

The twins came up, one to either side of him, one swallowing quickly.

"We were talking about that..."

"... and when it would happen."

"And we have an idea." 

"Oh?" Harry asked. "What?"

"We have some polyjuice--"

"-- though we'll only give you one dose at a time --"

"-- and only if you promise not to do anything we wouldn't do." 

Harry grinned. "I think I can manage that. After all, my boyfriend is at Hogwarts." 

The twin on his left -- Fred, he thought, though he'd lost track when they moved -- laughed. "Quite right." 

"Neither of us would snog a Malfoy."

"Though he's not that bad --"

"-- for a Malfoy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll settle for that, I suppose." 

"Oh, and speaking of your _boy_ friend...." George said, in a singsong voice. 

"You have a letter."

"Does he write to you every day?"

Harry shrugged, trying not to look too eager as he reached for the thick envelope. "A couple of times a week, usually," he answered, and ignored their sniggers in favor of extracting the thick parchment.

 

The first thing that Harry noticed about the letter was the bookmark contained in the folds of it. It was a thin wooden bookmark, carved into a lace-like pattern at the curved top, and it was encased in a vellum sleeve. On both sides of the sleeve, someone had written "Read letter before opening". The hand was not Draco's, but it looked familiar. Harry turned to the letter. 

  


_Dear Harry,_

_Mr. Lupin contacted me yesterday. At first, I couldn't think how he made it into the school, but then I remembered -- he knows about one of the tunnels, so he may well know about the others. At any rate, it was quite a shock to see him in the back corridor by the bust of Sir Belduf._

_I told him I didn't know where you were, and he quite amiably informed me that he didn't believe me. He then swore a fairly simple but powerful oath to me, binding him to keep your secrets of your location and my collusion if you came to him of your free will. (It explicitly left him free to do as he pleases if he finds you.) He also gave me the included bookmark, which he says is a two-way portkey to and from his home. I leave the decision up to you. Please let me know if you believe I should inform Professor Dumbledore of his intrusion into the castle._

_Professor McGonagall, who has been on holiday, returned to the school, today. It is apparently time to start planning for the new students. As you might expect, she had some questions stemming from my testimony. I have tried to stay to matters that she already knew about, but hearing about it again has put her in a strop. The problem reminded me of our plans last spring -- do you think an independent study project with her might get you back in her good graces, and perhaps improve her opinion of me? We would need to think of something that we would actually like to learn, of course. I had been thinking of your foray into metalworking before Easter. That's on the edges of Transfiguration, of course; do you know if she has any interest in that area?_

_The Council of Birthright and Family Affairs will be reviewing my case next week. Wish me luck!_

_Love,_

_Draco_

Harry smiled as he refolded the letter. "Well." Looking up, he found both twins staring at him with identical expressions of confusion on their faces. "Lupin sends me a portkey and swears secrecy, McGonagall is irritated, and the Ministry is considering overriding Draco's father disinheriting him," he summarized. At that, they looked even more confused. 

"We read that letter --" George admitted baldly. 

"-- and it didn't--"

Harry burst out laughing. "Oh, but you have to be me to read the _real_ letter!" he crowed. "Was his substitute entertaining?"

They glanced at each other. George ducked his head. 

"Oh, it was about us --"

"-- and how nosy and ill-mannered we are."

Harry laughed more. "And he _so_ got you!" 

They seemed okay with that, so he took a real bite of the bun, his heart lifting. He could visit Remus -- and, he hoped, Sirius.

 


	10. Encounters

Harry wanted to go to Remus -- and Sirius! -- right away, but after he had eaten, he forced himself to spend some time planning his visit. While he helped the twins set shelves into place in the front room, he examined the idea, thinking about what could go wrong. Sirius, he realized almost immediately, had not sworn to secrecy. Mulling this over, he found himself unable to believe that his godfather would betray him for taking matters into his own hands and leaving. If he kept his head and sounded sensible, he should be able to trust Sirius. 

On the other hand, he and Remus could have guests. Harry didn't have any way to see who was in the cottage before he arrived, but if he wore the invisibility cloak to portkey in, he could leave again immediately if anyone else was present. That should be safe enough. 

He would have to explain his reasoning for leaving, of course, and he expected Remus to think he should trust Dumbledore more than that, but Remus wouldn't go back on his word. They would want to know where he was, and he couldn't tell them that. He wondered if there was something he _could_ tell them, by way of a distraction. 

Susara moved slightly, reminding him that the snake might disturb his godfather, and with a soft hiss, he greeted her. As one, the twins stiffened, causing the charmed shelf they were lifting up along the wall to attach itself at the wrong height. 

"Harry...."

"I need to talk to her. Should I go in the back room?" 

They looked at each other. "Please." 

 

 

Harry sat on the bed, and invited Susara out. She curled affectionately around his wrist. 

_"Yess?"_

He smiled. _"I need to go out,"_ he said. _"Alone."_

If a snake could frown, she would have done. He could feel her distress. _"You should not travel alone."_

_"I will not travel alone long. I will visit my...."_ 'Godfather' didn't translate. _"Elder."_

_"I could come, yes?"_

He shook his head. _"Sorry. He disapproves of snakes, I think."_ Before her little kernel of hurt could grow, Harry stroked her shining scales. _"I do not plan to hide you, beautiful, except for whilst I hide. I need that he not doubt me while I am not safe."_ Things still, he thought, came out oddly in Parseltongue sometimes. 

Trustingly, she flowed once around his wrist before moving to the worn blanket. _"I will hunt. You will be back before night?"_

_"Yes."_

As she left, Harry wondered if all pets were as protective. It was sweet, if a little amusing. She was such a tiny thing! Still, she was busy for now, and there was no time like the present. He called out a goodbye to the twins, donned his Invisibility Cloak, and slid the Portkey out of its protective sheath. Immediately, he felt the familiar tug behind his navel and the room around him vanished.

 

Although the floor in the cozy kitchen of Darkmoon Den was uneven, Harry managed to maintain his balance while the room settled around him. Sirius was at the fire, frying a mess of mushrooms, and Remus was sitting at the table, reading a letter. No one else was visible. Harry began to cross the room to check the doorway to the next, but as soon as he took a step, Remus's head shot up. 

"What's--" Sirius began, but Remus snapped a hand up and shushed him. 

Before matters could escalate, Harry shook his hood back. "Just me." 

Sirius barked out a laugh, and Remus rolled his eyes. "Spying on us, Harry?"

"I wanted to be sure you didn't have guests," Harry corrected, swinging the cloak off completely. "You promised, and I trust Sirius, but--"

"You don't trust me?" Remus interrupted. 

"Not if Professor Dumbledore's in the room." Harry shrugged. "I expect you don't approve." 

"I don't necessarily disapprove," Remus countered gently. "It depends on how well you have hidden yourself."

"Well enough, I think."

"Will you tell me, so I can decide for myself?" 

Smiling, Harry shook his head. "Sorry, but no. The fewer people that know the better."

"Draco Malfoy knows." 

"Yes. And he shot down the first two plans as not safe enough." 

"Mm." Remus folded his hands on the tabletop in front of him. "And what if something happens to you? Will anyone know to raise the alarm?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "I am in frequent sight of someone else -- someone I trust not to betray me." 

"And do you think I would betray you?"

"Not to Voldemort." Harry cocked his head. "Maybe to Dumbledore." 

Sirius laughed, but Remus did not look amused. "I do not consider Dumbledore your enemy, Harry. Do you?" 

"For the next three weeks, yeah." 

"Harry," Remus said steadily, "I don't disbelieve that you _think_ you're safe. But at your age, you know, it is common to feel as if you are immortal --"

"Believe me, I know I'm not!"

"-- even when you _know_ you're not." 

"I'm being careful, sir. Really." 

"Last spring --"

"Look, I worked it out, then, okay? Why I'm so important. And I talked to Dumbledore about it, and he told me what my parents had done...." Harry trailed off, unable to continue. Remus looked stricken. 

"What _we_ had done too, Harry," Sirius said firmly, taking the pan off the heat and stepping over to lay a strong hand on Harry's shoulder. "We were all involved. We got caught up in it, you know, and it seemed like such a clever idea. _That's_ the sort of thing that has Remus worried." 

"That I'll be too clever, you mean?"

"Right." Sirius smiled engagingly. "In the manner of young men." 

"All of you...." Harry considered that. "Wormtail, too?"

At their nods, Harry sighed. "So Voldemort knows." 

"Yes," Remus said heavily. "He knows." 

"Here, now!" Sirius reproved. "What's done is done." He grinned. "And another thing that's done is the mushrooms. Will you eat with us, Harry?"

"I just ate, really," Harry said. "Though those do smell good." 

"Well, I'm putting them on a pork roast, but there are extra for toast, if you want some now." Sirius nudged him. "I always make about twice what I need, or we don't end up with enough."

"I didn't know you cooked," Harry said.

"I didn't have the chance on the run," Sirius pointed out. He shrugged. "Actually, I didn't cook much before; eating scrounged food for that long changed the idea of cooking from a chore to a treat."

Remembering the desperate hunger with which Sirius had attacked the leftover chicken he and his friends had brought out to his cave, years ago, Harry nodded. "Yeah, I can see that." 

Belatedly, Remus summoned the spare chair from the side of the room to the table, and gestured to it. "Sit down, then," he invited.

Harry did, and did not protest when Sirius set a small plate down in front of him. "So," he said, "about this spell on me...." 

Remus shook his head. "It's not on you now. It _was cast_ on you, and you still have the effect." 

"Whatever." 

"The distinction is not unimportant. If the spell were on you now, it could be dispelled or detected."

"Okay. I'll try to be more precise. But anyway, I don't really understand why you did it. I mean, wouldn't that be too long to wait? It turns out not to have been, I suppose, but I can't imagine putting that much effort to something that would kill him fifteen to twenty years from now. Isn't that like saying you'll live with it until then?" 

Remus sighed. "It did mean that none of us could defeat him earlier...."

"I sometimes wonder if that was why Peter betrayed us," Sirius interrupted. "Was that the point where he just couldn't live with the risk? We hadn't given up, though. Other people could have defeated him -- other people can still, you just have a better chance."

"But why not choose one of you," Harry persisted, "or your strongest ally?"

Shaking his head, Sirius went back to the stove. "You can't do that to an adult," he explained over his shoulder, as he took toast from the oven, "or even to a baby, really. We changed your essential ability to manipulate energy -- _his_ energy -- and we gave you luck, besides. A developed human can't handle that level of alteration." 

"Lily wasn't willing to risk it too far into the pregnancy, actually," Remus volunteered. "The source spell we built on advised casting before the seventh month, and she insisted it be by the fifth."

"Here," Sirius said, setting a rack of toast and a bowl onto the table. "Mushrooms." He sat down and took a slice of the toast. "Enjoy." 

Despite taking a slice of toast and spooning some mushrooms onto it, Harry couldn't let the matter drop yet. "How did you link it to him?" he asked. 

Remus and Sirius looked at each other uneasily. 

"I ..." Sirius cleared his throat. "I feigned interest. In the movement. We ... met; I had a Portkey. As he leaned close, I cut him, and then portkeyed out."

"Between the blood on his knife and what had soaked into his sleeve, we had enough." 

"So am I linked to the sleeve too?" Harry wasn't sure why that, of all the questions he could have asked, came out. Predictably, Sirius rolled his eyes. 

"Yes, Harry," he said. "Should my second-best dress robes have ever magically attacked you, you could have rebounded that magical energy -- of which they had none -- upon them." 

Harry chuckled. "Okay. Um, do you think that made it easier for random people to believe you'd been working for him?" 

Again, a look passed between the men. Harry frowned at it. Sirius poked at his toast with a fork. 

"I suspect that was more my family background," he said blandly.

"Oh, yeah!" Harry exclaimed. "Draco says his mother is one of your cousins; he was shocked that I didn't know you were from an old pureblood family. He thinks I'm woefully out of touch."

"Harry," Remus said wearily, "there is nothing about being from an old pureblood family that should interest you." 

"Well _family_ interests me," Harry retorted, "and don't you dare say it shouldn't." He pushed ahead, unwilling to listen. "Oh, Sirius, I met another cousin of yours -- an Auror, you wouldn't know her--" 

"Tonks?" Tension melted from the room as Sirius, who had been looking worried, smiled. "I've heard of her."

"Where did you--" Remus began, and then his face cleared. "Oh. The trial." 

"Right! She was Draco's bodyguard." 

Sirius snorted. "He must have loved that." 

"They got along quite well, actually," Harry said hotly. He tried not to think about how Mrs. Malfoy had ignored her niece's name. 

Remus cleared his throat. "Well," he said. "Good." 

"I still think he's going to get you into trouble." Sirius growled. "From his testimony at the trial, he already has." 

"Trouble I went into willingly," Harry pointed out. 

"Oh, I don't doubt that." 

"Harry." In comparison to Sirius, Remus was gentle and mild. Harry didn't believe for a moment that he was easier to dissuade. "We _do_ worry about you, and you cannot say that it is without reason. If Draco Malfoy -- or anyone -- gives you advice that you find suspect, I would be grateful if you would give us the chance to contribute an opinion."

Harry hesitated. That was very delicately put. And he had been worrying about Red Caps, not that Remus or Sirius was a Potions expert, as far as he knew-- He nearly laughed at the thought as he recalled what Remus had taught. He was an expert in Dark Creatures, which was even better. 

"Actually...." he said slowly. 

Although Sirius sat back in obvious surprise, Remus didn't blink. "Go ahead, Harry." 

"Well, it's.... He even pointed out it was a bit dodgy, but Draco's very good at Potions, you know, and he thought that we might be able to brew something protective from Red Cap parts--"

Sirius snorted. " _Not_ a protective creature." 

"Yes, but Voldemort has tried to kill me multiple times, and did kill my parents, and he was talking about harnessing blood guilt."

They made no immediate outcry. A shared look, an uneasy shifting of position, and Sirius started. 

"That would be, er, Dark--"

"But not a bad theory," Remus concluded. "You should keep it to research for now, of course -- you're not to confront him. You need to learn energy manipulation--"

"Let's discuss it when you leave school," Sirius said.

"Okay," Harry said. It wasn't lying really; they could discuss it then. "But Red Caps ... they're not intelligent, are they? They seem sort of humanlike." 

Remus shook his head. "Only in form. They are entirely a magical manifestation of violence, with any thought or will borrowed from the hatred left by the dead. A Kneazle is closer to human."

"Okay." Harry relaxed back. "I just wanted to be sure, before I let him look into it." He made a face. "Actually, I can't stop him, and he probably already is, but before I agreed." 

Another shared look, and Remus and Sirius both smiled. "I'm glad that you asked," Remus said. "You're a good boy, Harry." 

"A fine young man," Sirius corrected.

Harry ate his toast and was glad he had reason to blush.

 

When Harry returned to the shop, the twins had left, but on the crate by his bed were two doses of Polyjuice, a few ginger hairs caught in folded parchment, and a note:

  


_You should only go out as one of us while we are working in here. (Of course! It wouldn't do for us to be seen in three places!) Until then, these are only for an emergency._

_See you tomorrow!_

 

The next afternoon, while the twins were working, Harry took advantage of the offer. He was surprised to find that Polyjuice Potion with Fred's hair wasn't disgusting, just hotly spicy and a bit odd. It was the perfect time, he decided, to return to Gringotts and get the money he would need for sphinx feathers. He stuffed his Invisibility Cloak in his bag, just in case, and headed out. 

He had already been to the bank, to Flourish & Blotts, and to a confectionary, when he spotted a familiar face. Blaise Zabini was sitting out on the patio at Fortescue's, eating ice cream and reading from a small book. The tables near him were empty. 

Harry stopped and considered. He had wanted to talk to Zabini. Of course, now he was Fred, whom Zabini had no reason to talk to, and no one with a drop of sense would believe Fred if he said he was someone else on Polyjuice. Harry checked the time. He had less than ten minutes until his own form returned. Perhaps he could send Susara over with a note to ask for a parley?

At the thought of his snake, he reconsidered. Quickly, he crossed the street, went up the steps to the patio, and slid into the chair across from Zabini. 

Zabini looked up, and the nascent welcome on his face turned to disgust. "Get lost, Weasley." 

"I'm not a Weasley," Harry replied, his voice low. "I just grabbed a hair last time I was visiting." 

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Right. And I'm Merlin's lost bastard." 

Harry laughed. "Really? Brilliant." He turned his thoughts to his snake. "Susara!" 

Zabini twitched at the sound of Parseltongue. When a torclinde wove its way from the sleeve of Harry's robes and wrapped around his arm, he sucked for a moment at his lip. 

"Ah. What was my previous debt to you?" 

"A bottle of cognac," Harry answered. 

Slowly, Zabini nodded. He scraped up some ice cream with his spoon. "Well. What can I do for you, Weasleyish?"

Harry smiled. He could feel that it looked a little hesitant. Zabini was a real person to him -- more than Bulstrode had been when she had run into him -- and he felt shyer with him. "I want a parley. Meet me in five minutes, in the alley behind Flourish & Blotts?" 

Zabini shook his head. "Too damn obvious, P-- pet. Tell you what -- there's a nightclub down Nimue Close."

"It wouldn't be open at this hour."

"Exactly. And I'm very good with locks." 

Harry grinned. "Yeah? Me too." 

Zabini shot him an odd look, but didn't ask. "I'll meet you there, then. Ten minutes, because I'm not leaving my ice cream, and it's a longer walk than Floor and Bore." 

After agreeing to the change, Harry ducked around a corner and put on his cloak. Invisible, he returned to watch Zabini. The boy didn't seem to have moved in the few seconds he had been out of Harry's sight, and he made no move to contact or signal anyone, as far as Harry could see. When he left Fortescue's, Harry followed. 

Zabini walked directly to Nimue Close. He opened the wrought iron gate at the front and stepped inside. Harry had to move quickly to get inside with him, and he was pulling in his breath to fit past Zabini in the narrow way. 

There were four doors off Nimue Close, two with hanging signs. Blaise immediately set to casting charms at one, and then to working at it with two devices from his pocket. When he got it open, Harry slipped in ahead of him and looked around. He was in the front of a large room, with carpet at the edges and a smell of long-stale beer. The furniture looked solid and hard to move. On the other side of the dance floor stood a bar, bottles of liquor arrayed behind it. From a shimmer in the air before it, Harry judged it to have stronger protections than the door. He cast a quick charm to detect living mammals, and it picked up nothing other than himself and Zabini, and a few little speckles of mice. 

The slight glow caused by the charm was invisible to anyone other than the caster, but it did draw his attention to Zabini, who was standing nervously at the slightly open door, presumably waiting for him to arrive. Harry put his hood down and parted the cloak. 

"You might as well shut--"

Zabini whirled, wand out, and then sagged in relief. He closed the door. "Honestly, Potter! Couldn't you have warned me?"

"And not seen if you sent an owl?" Harry returned. Zabini sighed. 

"A point," he said, walking towards Harry. "And don't think it hasn't occurred to me, after you came to me so readily during the trial. But I've thought about You-Know-Who, and the state of people like Malfoy and Nott, and I've decided I can do without that sort of favor." A few yards from Harry, he threw himself down on a wide cushioned seat that looked like a giant's footstool. It could have held half a dozen people if they all faced outward. Blaise leaned back, holding in one knee to balance. "So. That parley. Did you track me here?" 

"No. I was just shopping. I've disappeared, you know." 

From the interested flicker of Zabini's eyes, he hadn't known, which to Harry meant he was allied with neither the Order nor Voldemort -- at least not actively. 

"Shopping?" Zabini asked lightly. His eyes dropped to Harry's invisible body. "Or stealing?" 

Harry rolled his eyes, and settled on another of the strange seats a few feet away. "Please. I always leave money. Ask Draco if you don't believe me." 

Zabini snorted in amusement. " _He_ doesn't." 

"Well." Harry shrugged. "It's something we fought about, early on. He couldn't see why I did, and I said it was important to me that shopkeepers have money to live on. He has trouble understanding how that matters, unless someone makes him think about it." 

"I can't see that he'd care," Zabini retorted. His look grew more wistful as he studied Harry. "But maybe he does for you." 

"Sorry," Harry said, feeling his face heat. 

"No, you're not." 

"Well, not that I have him. But ..." Harry dropped his eyes for a moment, but then, remembering the danger, raised them again. "I think you were at the wrong time for him. He hadn't grown up enough for you, yet. You might do for after me, but I don't want _anyone_ after me." He knew he sounded fierce at the last, but it was half frustration. He wouldn't get what he wanted any more than Zabini had, and that already rankled. 

"Don't worry about it," Zabini answered. "He was fun, but he doesn't matter to me much, in that way. I wish it had ended better, but not that it didn't end."

"Okay," Harry said with a nod. "So." 

"So." Zabini smiled wryly. "That's sorted. You want that favor, now?" 

"Um..." Harry shrugged. "Not really. More the other way round."

Zabini cocked his head to the side. "You want me more in your debt." 

"Slytherin," Harry taunted. "Look, I'm making an apothecary purchase in Knockturn Alley, and since I saw you..." He shrugged. "Anything you want me to pick up for you?" 

Zabini blinked. "You're ... _what_?" 

"I'm going down Knockturn for potions ingredients, and there's no need for all of us to do it. I'm already picking up a few things for one of your housemates. Want anything?" 

"Excuse me. _Who_ are you?" 

Harry made a face. "Harry. Take it or leave it." 

"Fine. I'd like a pint of unicorn blood." 

"Not on your life."

"Well, that's a relief. So you'll pick up anything that _you_ find acceptable, is that it?"

"Yes. Tosser." 

Blaise grinned. "Well, as I'm currently lacking a gorgeous lover, yes. Hm." He leaned forward, his feet coming to the ground. "Why? If I may ask."

Harry shrugged. "Well, I need some things. I expect other people--"

"Potter, I don't actually believe that you are a gormless idiot. _Why?_ " 

"If I buy things for multiple people, what I might be doing doesn't show." 

"Ah." Blaise straightened. "Well, then... would you buy me a quarter-ounce of gargoyle dust?" 

Harry cocked his head to the side, trying to recall anything he had heard about gargoyle dust, but nothing came to mind. "What's it for?" 

"A few things, but I want it for memory enhancement." 

"Is it dangerous? I mean, I don't know anyone else ...." 

"If you use it constantly, yes, but the proscription is more that true gargoyles are rare. I'm not planning to take it all term -- just for a few key sessions and for N.E.W.T.s." 

"Isn't that cheating?" Harry reddened as he heard the words come out of his mouth. _That was a stupid thing to say to a Slytherin._

"What, do you think it would be fair otherwise?" Blaise scoffed. "I don't have a _name,_ Potter. I don't have a family that _endows_ places. I don't even have custom-tailored dress robes. When I leave school and look for a job, all I've got is my O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. I'm buggered if I pit _merit_ against a Malfoy or a Parkinson. We won't even mention _you._ " 

Harry tensed. "Actually, I've worried about being too much of a security liability."

"Huh." Blaise shrugged. "All right. You're a special case, but you do see what I mean? And it's tempting to support You-Know-Who, because in theory his lot wants that I'm a pureblood to count for something, but looking at what they _do_ , and who they kill, I'm not so sure they bear that out in actions." He scowled. "So was that a no?"

"No, just a question. I mean, I'll look it up, but if what you say seems right, fine. I'll get it. What is it likely to cost?" 

Zabini laughed uneasily. "I don't know. I'll go up to 20G; don't get it if it's more than that."

"Okay. Would a smaller quantity be useful if it is?"

"Hm." Zabini's knee came up again as he rocked back. "Yes. For half that I'd go up to 15." 

Harry nodded. "All right. Payment on delivery?"

"That's fine. Hogwarts Express if we can?"

Harry nodded. "Right. Some dungeon corridor if we can't." 

Zabini shook his head. "Care of Magical Creatures. We can duck behind a rhododendron and no one should notice." 

 

When Harry got back to the shop, the twins were waiting for him. They had apparently stopped working, unless they were doing the planning sort of working; he found them at the table in the back room, with two mostly empty pint glasses of dark beer. Whatever they were saying was cut short by his arrival. 

"Harry!" One jumped to his feet, grinning broadly. 

"Thought we'd have to come after you, mate." That was George, Harry decided, now standing too. He downed the remainder of his beer. 

Harry shrugged. "Nah. I ran into a ... an acquaintance and put on my cloak to see what he was up to." 

"Mm."

"Friend, enemy, or just fit?"

Harry laughed. "None, really. Well, maybe fit, but not my thing. One of the Slytherins." 

"Right."

"Good to know you're not into all of them."

"One's enough, thanks. They're exhausting." Harry dropped down to a crate and yawned. "So ... I was wondering something." 

"How two such witty and gorgeous men as ourselves manage to stay unattached?"

"The load-bearing capacity of jelly?"

"What's for dinner?"

"I frequently wonder what's for dinner."

Harry laughed. "Look, just ... after I go back to Hogwarts, I may need some things. Would you be willing to buy me potions ingredients and owl them to me?"

"Ah!" Fred exclaimed. "The source Outside."

"You can owl-order from apothecaries, you know."

"Yeah, but--" Harry ducked his head. "I'm likely to want a few things I won't want my name attached to."

Fred nodded knowingly.

"Any particular things?" George asked.

"Well ... Red Cap parts? Skull dust would be best." 

Silenced, the twins looked at each other. Harry felt suddenly awkward. "It was -- Draco feels I can use Voldemort's blood guilt against him, and build a protection. Remus thought the theory was sound, but he doesn't want me to do it until I leave school. He's afraid I'll go looking for trouble, or something, but really, Voldemort has found me enough times that I'd like to be prepared."

Slowly, the twins relaxed. George nodded. "That would be...."

"-- reasonable," Fred concluded. "Anything else?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, yet. Draco's still researching how to do it. And since I'll have to be nice to some of the other Slytherins--"

"You do not!"

"Harry! Think of the principle of it!"

"The _principle_ , as Draco says, is that if he has to be nice to mine, I have to be nice to his." Harry shrugged. "He has a point. I do expect him to be civil to Hermione and Ron and Neville, so I can't really go after Zabini, right?" 

George crossed his arms over his chest. "And what does this have to do with apothecary purchases?"

"Well, I don't want to seem too well-behaved. I mean, it's not natural, right? And besides, it will be stressful."

"Mm?"

"So I'll have to play some tricks on someone, whether it's Ravenclaws, or Hufflepuffs, or Slytherins that Draco doesn't like."

"Slytherins," Fred said promptly. 

"Whatever. So I may need things for projects I haven't devised yet."

"Dear little Harrykins," Fred said, looking past him at George.

"I'm so proud of him." 

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Harry said, heating. "You're willing to consider it, though?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"Just tell us what you want."

 


	11. Plans and Preparations

 

_Dear Harry,_

_School letters have more than the usual information this year, and Professor McGonagall was distressed at yours being returned. She has distributed copies of your letter (sealed) to a number of people. All of us have assured her that we cannot contact you, of course, but she is hoping that you will initiate contact with one of her chosen list. It might seem simplest for me to send you mine, but considering that the headmaster has a certain amount of authority over me whilst I am in residence, it would not do for my copy to be the one that reaches you. As the werewolf has proved trustworthy, and I am quite certain that he has a copy accessible, I suggest that you pay him a visit._

_In other news, the Council of Birthright and Family Affairs found in my favor, although we expect at least one challenge. Despite the theoretical return of my theoretical fortune, I am still bored, and want school to start. Above all, I look forward to your return. I may, perhaps, even be anticipating the challenge of managing my housemates again. I hope your August has been as tedious as mine, as if it has not, either something has gone wrong or you have failed to take adequate care._

_Your owl disappeared for two days, and when she returned, she deigned to sit near me, but would not accept a sausage. I believe she is looking for you, and hopes you will return to me._

_With longing,_

_Draco_

 

Harry wanted to reply immediately, but he held back. Draco would not approve of him meeting with Bulstrode, he was certain, so it would be better to have that done before he replied. However, there was nothing to keep him from an immediate visit to Darkmoon Den. 

 

He wore the cloak again, but he stumbled this time. By the fire, Remus looked up. 

"Harry?"

Chuckling, Harry opened the cloak. "Got it in one."

"Oddly, I don't have many invisible visitors. How is life in hiding?"

"Dull," Harry said, almost honestly. "I miss having people to talk to. It's better than the Dursleys' though, and I won't risk the Burrow." He shrugged. "So, I thought I could visit you again before school started. Where's Sirius?"

"Out having a run." Remus chuckled. "He doesn't like being cooped up, I'm afraid. I imagine you're rather the same."

"Yeah." The room had a sofa as well as the one chair. Harry sat on the end nearest Remus. "I have a new appreciation of what it must be like for him. And I've been doing this for less than three weeks." Speculatively, he looked at the door. "I wish I could turn into a dog." 

"You could probably learn to turn into something, with proper effort. You're a talented pupil, as I recall." 

"Thanks." 

"I mean it quite sincerely." Remus set his book aside. "Now, I expect you are actually here for a letter?" 

"Letter?" Harry widened his eyes innocently, but then ruined the effect by grinning. "I am so bad at that! Yes, I heard there was a letter." He laughed. It felt good to be here. "You should be flattered, you know. Draco described you as 'trustworthy.'"

"Really?" Remus's brow creased as his eyebrows rose. "Well. I'll be happy when the feeling is mutual."

"Remus," Harry warned. 

"What? I am entitled to my opinion. You would do well to have friends who keep their own and express them honestly." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "I do, I think."

"Really." 

"Really. I may have had too much influence on Ron, at one point, but not in the last three years."

"And Draco?"

"He says what he thinks." Harry considered that. "Well, mostly. Sometimes he's too subtle for me."

"Subtle. Would you give me an example?"

"Well, he thought I knew he was interested in me, for example. And I didn't, but I'm kind of clueless sometimes. I mean, it was Seamus that told me, and I think Hermione knew, so he can't have been exactly unreadable." Harry didn't want to be taking about this. "Do you know who the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher is?" 

"No. Why would I?"

"I don't know. You know people." Harry shrugged. "I'll find out soon enough, I suppose."

"You don't look happy."

"Well, most of them have been awful. Four out of six." 

"I gather I am one of the exceptions?"

"You and Horsyr." 

" _Professor_ Horsyr, Harry."

Harry grinned. "Not any more, but okay. Professor Horsyr." 

Still looking rather disapproving, Remus stood and opened a drawer in a small table. "Your letter," he said, handing it to Harry. "I'll tell Professor McGonagall that you received it, shall I?" 

Harry nodded. He fingered the letter, which was thicker than usual. He wondered if it had some personal message added --telling him to behave himself, no doubt -- or if the added bulk was all due to the extra information for seventh year students. "And that I won't be visiting you again." 

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Would you if I _don't_ tell her?" 

"During the next twelve days? Probably not." 

"Ah. But later?"

"Of course! When I'm out of school. Of _course,_ Remus." 

"All right." 

While Harry was wondering if he needed to say more, there was a bark at the door, and then Remus went to open it. Only when the dog was safely inside the cottage did he change form. 

"Harry!" 

Then it was hugs and friendly conversation, and Harry tucked the letter away for later. 

 

Back at the shop -- and it was starting to look like a shop, now -- Harry drew the letter from its envelope and unfolded it. On the first of two sheets, he read the following message: 

  


_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_August is drawing to a close, and it is time to consider your return to school. At least, I earnestly hope you will be returning. As school owls were unable to deliver your original letter, I have taken the liberty of distributing copies of this one to several people who believe that you may contact them before September. Should you read this, please do me the courtesy of acknowledging its receipt._

_Seventh year studies are taxing and require dedication, effort, and focus. As for all seventh-year Gryffindors, I have reviewed your O.W.L.s in comparison with last year's marks in order to evaluate what changes to your schedule might optimize your performance in your N.E.W.T.s. Please give serious consideration to my advice, whilst remembering also that as an adult wizard poised to enter wizarding society, it is your duty to remain true to yourself._

_Recommended:_

_Charms : As it forms the core of magical practice, I recommend continuing with this course to all but those most dedicated to narrow specialization. _  
_Defense against the Dark Arts : I need not tell you this is your shining talent. Continue with it. _  
_Transfiguration : As your professor, I believe that this class challenges you to develop a theoretical understanding of magic, establishing a valuable counterpart to your natural strengths in intuition and will. _  


_Questionable:_

_Care of Magical Creatures : This course is likely to be of little use to you professionally, but it is also only a minor drain on your schedule. If you feel the time outside benefits your overall outlook, it may be worth continuing. Use your own best judgment. _  
_Potions : Although your Potions marks improved greatly last year, this is a time-consuming course of study and a difficult N.E.W.T. to obtain. Continue in it only if you are likely to pursue a career which requires or weights in favor of this N.E.W.T. (e.g., Auror, Mediwizard, Magical Pest Controller). _  


_Not Recommended:_

_Divination : I see no reason whatsoever for you to continue with this course of study._  
_Herbology : Due to the effort involved in replenishing stocks lost in last year's incident, Professor Sprout has asked that only truly dedicated N.E.W.T.-level students sign up for Herbology this year. Continue in it only if you are likely to pursue a career which requires or weights towards this N.E.W.T. (e.g., Mediwizard, Landscaper, Herbologist). _  
_History of Magic : While it is my hope that you will someday acquire some understanding of the history of our culture and knowledge, you clearly will not learn it from Professor Binns. _  


_For each two courses that you drop, you should consider adding an optional course. I recommend the following options:_

_Cursebreaking : The incoming Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor plans to teach an introductory Cursebreaking course for sixth and seventh year students. As one of our best Defense against the Dark Arts students, I believe this would be a natural fit for your talents._  
_Symbology : Professor Sinistra offers this as a one-year overview in runes, glyphs, and other symbols for seventh-year students who have not taken Ancient Runes. _  


_While there are years of experience behind my recommendations, you know yourself best. Consider your interests and aspirations, and come prepared to discuss your final schedule with me on the second of September._

_Best Regards,_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall_  
_Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Harry stared at the paper. Cursebreaking? He couldn't help wondering if Bill was the new Defense instructor. In any case, he _knew_ he wanted to take that course. He would be happy to be rid of all the Not Recommended courses as well, so that gave him one free slot. He looked back up at the word "Potions," and the strong line beneath it and shook his head. "Any other year," he muttered.

There was a tickle of motion across his collarbone as Susara, coiled comfortably around his neck, raised her head. _"Master?"_

_"I have schedule recommendations from school. Any other year, I would have been thrilled to drop Potions. Now I want to stay in it."_

_"You should do what you please,"_ she replied placidly, and he laughed. 

" _The professor said the same_." 

He moved on to look at the second and third sheets. Because exact schedules for his year were not set until the first day of school, it listed the supplies for all the lessons he might take, with a reminder that most would be available by owl order once at school. Of course, this also gave him a way to get a better sense of what the options might be like. He should go to Flourish & Blotts and look over the required and suggested texts.

Once that plan was set, he recalled the matter of Millicent Bulstrode. He was due to meet her tomorrow, although he had deliberately not set a place. The book shop was a natural location for her to look for him, as that was where they had run into each other before. It would be simple, if he trusted her. 

He didn't. Draco had said she was a neutral, but that didn't make her an ally. He didn't doubt she could get a good deal of money for betraying him. On the positive side, money didn't seem to be what motivated her. He thought over everything she had said, trying to get a grasp on what did. _Respect_ , perhaps, but while she wouldn't get that from Voldemort, she might be misled into believing she would. _Freedom_ \-- which had the same problems. He wished he had at least made their second meeting closer to the first of September, so his secrets needed less protection. On the other hand, that would have given him less time to make purchases. 

And once he found her, where could he take her that was private, but didn't give those secrets away? He considered reusing the nightclub, but he hadn't asked Zabini what protections he had dismantled, and getting caught by Aurors would be not only dangerous, but embarrassing. He had thought up and discarded a dozen schemes before the most useful modification of Zabini's occurred to him -- he would lead Bulstrode out into Muggle London and make similar use of some Muggle place. The protections would be easier to disable, and if he by some ill chance failed, he could deal with Muggle police easily enough. 

So he scouted out the far door of the Leaky Cauldron, questioned the twins (who had not, to his surprise, dealt with Muggle alarm systems, but were impressed that he had), and made a quick trip to the book shop to look for information. It occurred to him, as he settled down with a copy of _Living within the Invasion -- How to Ignore Muggle Intrusions_ to wonder how other readers used this information, but he quickly pushed that thought away. Wizard thieves were the MLE's problem; Voldemort was his. 

After lunch the next day, armed with a hip flask of Polyjuice, his Invisibility Cloak, his school list, and a fresh knowledge of how to tie Muggle alarm systems in knots, he went down to Flourish & Blotts to check out the required texts for Cursebreaking and Symbology. 

Millicent was there, as he expected. As Fred, he even gave her a long look as he was paying for his purchases, but outside, he ducked out of sight, tossed on his cloak, and waited. Approaching her in the bookshop would be efficient, but dangerously predictable. 

He caught her on the street, walking towards the Leaky Cauldron. 

"Hi." 

"Shove off, Weasley." 

He grinned. "I've been told you should go through. To the Muggle side, you know." 

She sent him a suspicious look, which quickly turned contemptuous. "In these clothes?" 

"Can't you cast a glamour?" Her shuttered expression told him that she couldn't, and he silently berated himself for thoughtlessness. "I'll do it for you." 

She snorted. "I may not be brilliant, Weasley, but I'm not a fool." 

He frowned. He couldn't actually blame her for not wanting one of the twins to change her appearance. "Well, is there anyone you would trust?" 

"I'm here alone. Your friend should have told you that. I doubt he'd see me elsewise." 

"Look, what if you conjure a mirror, all right, and then I do the glamour? We can do it in the space behind the pub." 

The bins were just as smelly as Muggle ones, the overly hopeful grass that poked between the stones just as pathetic, but they did have a modicum of privacy in the space between the brick wall and the back door to the Leaky Cauldron. He changed only her clothes, so that she appeared to be wearing black chinos, a light blue shirt, and a loose, dark blue, sweatshirt jacket. She frowned at herself in the mirror, conjured a new one and frowned again, patted her hands down her sides to feel that her clothes were actually unchanged, and then, with a sigh, nodded. 

"All right. Lead on, Weasley -- and no tricks."

He led her through the pub, and a few streets away from it on the Muggle side, to a nondescript door that led to stairs up to several offices, all of which should be empty for the weekend. The outer door had a simple lock, easily dealt with by Alohomora, but the individual businesses had better protections. He tested several for alarm systems, opened the first one without, and turned to usher her into the Muggle space. 

She had her wand out, but pointed to the side, as her arms were crossed over her chest. "Is he in there, Weasley? I'm not going any further until he shows himself." 

He could see her eyes flick to the side, calculating her escape path -- a short, straight run, and then a dive down the stairs with a cushioning spell was how he'd do it. Smiling, he leaned in the doorway. "I'm Harry, Bulstrode. It's Polyjuice." He managed a laugh. "I thought I'd be Ron, which might cause a bit less suspicion...."

She snorted. "Ronald Weasley talking to a Slytherin? Not a bit of it." 

"Point." 

She scowled. "And I still don't move until it wears off." 

"It should be any moment now." 

"But you're good with glamours." 

"I still need a wand for them." 

"Of course." She frowned. "What were you sending at the other doors?"

"Oh -- looking for alarm systems. This one doesn't have one."

"Harry Potter knows how to detect Muggle alarm systems," she said, a touch of sarcastic disbelief in her tone. 

He shrugged. He could feel his form about to take hold, and had to stay alert through it -- he didn't distrust her, really, but he didn't _trust_ her either. "Wouldn't I just?" he countered. "You know I never stay where I belong." 

She snorted. "True enough." Her body tensed, but she held her position, wand pointed away, as he clenched his teeth through the change, trying not to double over from the pain. In a few seconds, it had passed, and as he caught his breath, she slipped her wand into her sleeve, slightly hampered by not being able to see it. "Okay, Potter. Let's go inside." 

 

The office had the sort of look Harry had expected, with matching furnishings of a regimented fashion -- flawlessly executed, but not truly attractive, just as his Aunt Petunia's precise flower beds would never be beautiful. He sat in the swiveling padded chair behind the blond wood veneer desk and put his feet up on it. It was a comfortable position and one that allowed him to keep his wand at hand without appearing to. Millicent pulled up the solid chair beside the desk and sat in that, her feet flat on the floor and her elbows on knees. She also was prepared to move, Harry recognized, but in a very different way. However, the first thing she did was to swing a bag from her shoulder and pull out of it a sheaf of notes and a half-sized bottle of wine, which she handed to Harry. 

"I brought refreshments. You can unseal it."

 _Slytherin manners_ , he thought, and grinned. "Sure." He dumped the pens from a pencil cup, and transfigured that and a blown glass paperweight into glasses. The seal on the wine was intact. He slit it with his pocketknife and uncorked the bottle with a charm.

"Never knew you were so good at that sort of thing," Millicent said, taking the glass of wine that he handed her. "Transfiguration, I mean. They almost match."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "I got a lot better at Transfiguration last year, when I was going over things with Draco."

"You're good at glamours, too," she said flatly. 

"Self-preservation, really. You'd be good at them too, if your life depended on it." 

She sighed. "It might." 

"Oh?"

"Well, not like yours does." She took a swallow from her glass, put it down, and lifted the papers. "So. I've finished my research -- the first round, anyway."

"And?" he asked, belatedly taking a sip of the wine. It was good -- clean and somehow giving an impression of spice. 

"Well, the first set isn't so bad. That one is to make changes in my bone and muscle structure -- I'll get slightly taller, and my hips will change, for example. The sources all say I'll be a bit achy through it, but the components are all ones used in healing potions. I still don't want to buy them openly, of course, because no one's going to think anything good of a student needing that many unauthorized healing potions, but that's the worst of it." She took a quick breath. "If I start that in late September, I should be done with the course during December, but as that is also the point at which it can be paused for a few weeks, I plan not to start the second course until after the Christmas holiday."

Harry studied her. "These will be visible changes."

Her shoulders sagged. "Yes. I'll need glamours."

"And over Christmas?" 

"Oh Merlin! I hadn't thought of that. Maybe I can stay at school." She closed her eyes for a moment. "No. My mother will expect me to attend all the balls and parties...."

Harry sighed. "Well, we have until December to teach you to do your own glamours, then. Or maybe if you saved hairs from before you started the course, you could polyjuice into your former self?" 

Shaking her head, she sat back. "I don't know. It's worth trying, I suppose." She shrugged. "Anyway, the next set of potions is taken for nine weeks, and then a slightly different formula for nine days. You won't like that one." 

He braced himself. "Don't say unicorn blood." 

"Oh, Merlin, no! No, it's satyr's hooves -- well that's the difficult bit."

"Rare?" he asked. 

"Not so much, as trimmings will do, though they need to be fresh, but it's mostly used for, uh, getting it up." Her face reddened. "For blokes that can't, you know." 

"Oh!" Harry found himself heating at the idea. "Um...."

"Of course, the quantities I'll need would be enough to supply half a dozen men for that time." 

Harry bit his lip. "Um ... I'm throwing marathon orgies?" 

She threw back her head and laughed. "Maybe."

"Well, I might want to consult Draco; he's good at alibis. Would you mind if I told him, once things are underway?" 

She frowned. "If you swear him to secrecy.... Oh, give me a while to think about it. I'll tell you during September." 

"Okay." 

"You can back out of this whenever you like, of course," she added brusquely. "But if you do, my side of the deal is off, too. That's not a threat; I just won't protect him." 

"Understood." Harry took another swallow of the wine. "What does this potion do for you?"

"It will make me more masculine. I'll get facial hair --" she rolled her eyes -- "well, more of it -- and my breasts will shrink, and my, um, one of my female parts will become more like a penis. The final formulation will add blood and semen from a man, and that will complete that change." 

"So that's it?" 

"No. There's one more potion that I need to take for two weeks. That will get rid of my female organs." 

"Is that as nasty as it sounds?"

Millicent looked slightly green. "The things inside shrink down and then come out through my cunt, which will seal behind them. So, yeah -- nasty. And I'll be bedridden for the last day and night."

Harry winced. "Okay. So...."

" _That's_ the potion which will need the dodgiest supplies. As you can expect, the main components are Dark, and best known for some horrible poisons. The suspicion will be of causing harm, not hiding it." 

"Understood." Harry wondered what other sources he had if the twins balked. "Well, I'll do my best." He set his feet down on the floor. "Can you give me more specifics?" 

"Better than that," she said. "I made a copy of my notes." She handed him the sheaf of papers she had been holding, and Harry took it without thinking. It wasn't a portkey, apparently, and his hand didn't shrivel up when he touched the parchment, so he shrunk the lot and tucked them in his pocket. 

"All right, then. I'll look over the components for the first set, and if I can, I'll get them for you. If I can't, I'll let you know by owl as soon as possible." 

"Good enough." She drained her wine and stood, holding out her hand. "A pleasure doing business with you, Potter." 

"Bulstrode," he said in acknowledgement, shaking her hand. "Can you find your way back to the Cauldron?" 

She shook her head. "Through that mess? I'll just apparate, thanks. See you in September!" With a grin and a clap of collapsing air, she vanished. Harry left quickly, locking the door behind him.

 

He took his time about getting back to the shop, doing some shopping and taking advantage of the press on the Tube to collect some stray hairs from forgettable-looking Muggles of roughly his size and build. He was just putting his cloak away when the twins came into the room. 

"Harry!"

"What've you got?" 

Embarrassed, Harry looked back at the box on his bed. "Er ... cognac? Mostly? I was out on the Muggle side, today." 

They walked over. Fred opened the carton and pulled out a bottle. He frowned at it for a moment and then let out a low whistle. "Rather dear, isn't it?" 

Harry sighed. "It's made from champagne."

George leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. "So, Harrykins, why are you buying _that_?"

Leaning against the bed, Harry took the bottle from Fred. "Because my introduction to drinking was from the Malfoy heir? Why, would you suggest something else?" 

"Er, beer?" George said. 

"I don't think a year's supply of beer would fit in my school trunk." 

"Ah. Well, I had wondered about the volume." 

"We may still be wondering about the volume." 

"But you should try firewhisky," George said more brightly.

"Or even Muggle whisky." 

"You'll be in the heart of Scotland in another week."

"Why bring French booze from London?"

"Er..." Harry shrugged. "Can I _buy_ whisky in Hogsmeade?" 

Fred sat down. "You _are_ of age, you know." 

"I suppose. I figured everything there would get back to Dumbledore." 

"Ah."

"Well, a lot does."

"But we recommend the Hogshead. Anything the barman serves, he'll sell you by the bottle."

"Discreetly."

Harry thought about this, and then nodded. "All right. For now, would you like to try some French booze from London?"

George grinned. "We're always open to new experiences, aren't we Fred?"

"Especially ones with a fifteen Galleon price tag, offered for free," Fred agreed. He summoned three mismatched glasses from the kitchen. With a snort, Harry turned them into snifters. 

"There," he said, handing the first to George. "Now it looks expensive too." He gave a second to Fred and then poured one for himself. 

"I have to say...." Fred began.

"We were wondering..." 

Fred, who had just taken a sip, coughed.

"Hm?" Harry said. He was still inhaling the fumes off his. 

"Definitely whisky. Bloody strong, that is!" 

"Oh. Um, when I said 'made from champagne,' I meant ' _distilled_ from.'" 

"So, as we were saying...." George resumed, having tasted his more cautiously. 

"We were wondering if this drinking thing was entirely made up."

"Not having seen any of it--" 

"In over two weeks." 

"Oh. Well, exaggerated." Harry shrugged. "Though we did overdo it sometimes. Especially me, I suppose." 

They shared a glance. "Malfoy didn't keep you company?" Fred asked.

"He wanted control more, I think." Harry grinned. "Afraid he'd tell me I was hot, maybe." 

George snorted. "Think much of yourself?"

"Well, it's what he says now." Harry stuck his tongue out at George. "Which gives us a few better things to do when we hide out together."

Fred laughed. "I think you may have over-packed, then!"

"Well, Draco won't have been out, so it's for two." Harry tried not to look embarrassed. "Okay. Maybe. But I need bribes too." 

"Now you're just making excuses," George said, shaking his hair back. 

"Probably. Can we say we're done?"

"Probably," Fred mimicked. He lifted his head. "Actually, we wanted to ask you a favor." 

"Oh? Don't you know better than to hassle me beforehand, yet?"

Fred waved off the objection. "Just -- it will make sense." 

"See, this weekend, and the next--"

"The two before Hogwarts starts."

"Are the biggest shopping weekends of the season."

"And the shop's almost ready." 

"Would you mind moving to our flat?"

"For a few days?" 

Harry stared. "I came here to avoid--"

"But that was then!"

"The enemy's already scoped it, don't you think?"

"Just for Saturday and Sunday." 

Harry sighed. "Oh..." On the verge of agreement, he stopped. "Look, part of why I felt this was safe was it wasn't widely known to be yours."

"Just next weekend, then? The Hogwarts Express is on Monday."

Harry considered this. It wasn't too dangerous, and it would make a big difference to the business. "Okay, you can open. I won't move to your flat, though. This is the _office_. No one should see it."

"But what if someone notices?"

"You can't be entirely quiet." 

"Yeah, but what if I just take a flask of polyjuice and leave for the day? I can go the zoo, or something." 

"As us?"

"Nah. While I was out, I picked up a few hairs from passing Muggles. It should be safe enough."

"All right." 

"But you need some way to signal us." 

"In case it's not." 

"We can charm a set of rings."

"If you take yours off, ours will burn." 

"And you need to bring the portkey that Lupin gave you." 

"Okay." Harry grinned. "Sorted." 

 

That night, he wrote two letters.

 

_Professor McGonagall,_

_I received your letter from Remus Lupin. I would be happy to meet with you when I return to Hogwarts, but I'm fairly sure that I want to take these courses:_

_Defense against the Dark Arts_  
_Transfiguration_  
_Charms_  
_Potions_  
_Cursebreaking_  
_Symbology_  


_I've bought all the books already. I'll see you on the first of September! (I wouldn't miss it for anything.)_

_Regards,_

_Harry_

  


_Dear Draco,_

_I miss you terribly. I miss you every night, and I miss you when something interesting happens and I want to tell you about it, and I miss you when nothing's going on, and I know that together, we'd have fun somehow._

_I probably haven't been as bored as you, though -- I have the twins to entertain me. I've also been out a few times, ~~and I've met up with Bulstrode and Zabini (separately), so, yeah, probably not as careful as you'd like~~ , but I promise I was very careful ~~with both of them~~. _

_Do you want to take Cursebreaking with me? The texts look interesting, and if the professor is at all competent, it should be a great class. I'm also staying in Potions, though I'm sure Professor McGonagall would rather I dropped it._

_Should we meet in our place after the Welcoming Feast, or maybe after lights out that night?_

_Love,_

_Harry_

 

The next two weeks passed slowly. Harry acquired sphinx feathers, gargoyle dust, and the first batch of the harmless components for Millicent's first potion. Some components had to be fresh; he estimated that he would need two deliveries from Fred and George. The quantity required for a three-month course was also more than he could walk into an apothecary and buy anonymously, but the twins, as commercial producers, should have an easier time with that. He decided he would tell them that he had formed an unofficial dueling club with some friends, and that they needed to make some custom healing potions in order to avoid notice. Fred and George would approve of that sort of thing. 

The weekend that the shop was open passed without incident, except for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes making a lot of money. It was the day before that, on Friday, that Harry spotted Ron and Hermione coming out of Slug & Jiggers. He managed to keep from revealing himself, but he followed them all over Diagon Alley, feeling lonelier by the minute, and longing to be back at Hogwarts, where he could both talk to them and be with someone the way they were with each other. 

 


	12. Back to School

 

King's Cross was a simple Tube ride. With agreement from the twins, Harry used a last dose of the Polyjuice potion and a hair from a random Muggle that he had bumped against the day before. He enjoyed the anonymity of traveling as this unknown man, but he wasn't entirely sure that the barrier would admit him, so he had to time the dose carefully. It turned out that there was no problem crossing through, whatever his body looked like. 

"Oi!" called out a voice, as he set his foot on the train steps. "You sir! Students only!" Bustling into conversational range, Ernie Macmillan returned to his usual self-important tone. "Regulations, my good man, you understand -- for the children's safety." 

Harry moved to the side of the steps and leaned back against the vibrating train. It didn't quite obscure the strange, queasy feeling of the Polyjuice starting to wear off. "How do you know I'm not the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" he challenged.

Ernie's chest puffed out. "I, sir, am a _prefect_. We have been informed as to all the staff members that will be traveling today." 

Harry started to reply, but the potion didn't give him time. With a sickening wrench, his body warped back to its accustomed shape. It was a relief to have his trousers fit comfortably, again. 

"Potter?"

"It seemed the safest way to get here. May I board the train, now?" 

"Can't you ever be _normal_?" Ernie huffed.

Harry shrugged and hoisted his trunk. "Probably not. See you!" 

"Oi, Potter! Wait up!" With a wide grin, Blaise Zabini skidded to a halt beside them. His trunk bumped into the side of the train. "How did you get past me?" 

"He was using," Ernie said, with audible offense, "Polyjuice Potion." 

"Brilliant!" Zabini maneuvered his floating trunk onto the train. "Did you brew it yourself?" 

"Nah," Harry said modestly. "Some friends of mine did." He followed Zabini up the iron steps, only absently noticing how Ernie was staring. "Let's find an empty compartment."

"No Gryffindor friends this year?" 

Harry grinned. "Last I saw, they were snogging in an alcove. They probably won't start looking for me until the train's in motion."

They hadn't seen any empty compartments by the time they reached one that Harry considered to be as good -- the sole occupant was Millicent Bulstrode. He caught Zabini's arm. "Bulstrode okay with you?" he asked.

Zabini looked startled. "Fine with _me_ ," he said significantly.

"All right, then." Harry slid open the door. "Hi, Bulstrode. Mind if we join you?"

Her already small eyes narrowed for a moment, heavy brows coming ominously down. "Can you mind your tongue?" she asked tartly. 

Harry winked at her, hoping she took it as understanding. "Wasn't I all right last time?" he coaxed. 

Rolling her eyes, she sat back, but her scowl faded. "You can't blame me if it's hard to get used to, Potter. Fine. Have a seat." 

With a laugh, he settled across from her. Zabini, to his surprise, not only sat next to him, but twisted to face him. 

"So, Potter...." 

"Mm?"

"Before your friends show up...." Zabini's head lowered in stubborn uncertainty. "Have you got what you said you would?"

Bulstrode snorted, which made Harry want to laugh, but he kept it to a smile. "The whole thing," he said. He took a small packet out of his jeans pocket. "Eighteen Galleons."

"And it cost you?"

"Eighteen Galleons."

Zabini eyed him balefully. "It would be so easy to hate you."

"For not charging extra?"

"For it just not _mattering_ to you." He cocked his head to the side. "Why don't you give it to me for free, Potter?"

Harry rapidly thought through several replies. _Should I? No, it would probably make him resent me more. And then it's a present, and that makes me more responsible, and we're not that close._ "Because that wasn't our deal," he said. "And besides, eighteen Galleons? It matters some." 

"All right," Zabini said amiably. "Can't blame me for trying." He dug out a small purse and held it out towards Harry. Harry suddenly thought of Portkeys, and what Zabini might do for money or favors. While he was hesitating, Bulstrode reached across the space between the seats and grabbed Zabini's wrist. 

"Shall I check it for you, Potter?"

He couldn't not think of Cedric. "But if it's--"

"I'll be fine," she said. 

"Cedric--"

"Didn't socialize with the Parkinsons and Notts," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"You're wasting your time," Zabini protested. "But go ahead. It's not a bad precaution." 

Bulstrode dumped the contents of the purse out into her lap, and then ran one of her thick fingers all around the inside of it. That done, she picked up a coin and touched the entire surface of it before placing it back in the purse. In this manner, she checked all twenty coins. Zabini, meanwhile, opened his packet and examined the contents. With a wetted finger, he picked up a few grains of the grey stuff and tasted it. He made a face like he had bitten a lime, but afterwards, he smiled. "Excellent. Thanks." 

"You're welcome," Harry said, accepting the vetted purse from Bulstrode and handing two coins back to Zabini. "And thank you for checking it, Bulstrode." 

She grinned at him. "You can call me Mill, if you like."

"Okay." He felt a flush of accomplishment at that. "And you can call me Harry, you know." 

She laughed. "That might take some getting used to, but thanks." 

Blaise opened his mouth, but whatever he had intended to say was interrupted by the slide of the door. Harry looked up. Ron was standing there, looking shocked. Behind him, Ginny had her lips set in a thin line and her hands on her hips, managing to look remarkably like a younger, slimmer version of her mother. 

"Well," Blaise said, coming to his feet. "Weasley has finished that snogging session, I see. I think I'll be moving along. Coming, Millicent?"

Her eyes fixed on Ron, Bulstrode stood up. In the doorway, she paused, and after meeting Harry's eyes, inclined her head briefly. Expressionless, she turned and left. 

"Slytherins bowing to you?" Ron remarked, coming through once the door was clear. "Something you want to tell us, Harry?"

"Bowing?"

"Subtly. That 'not quite a nod' thing."

I thought it was just a polite goodbye." Harry shrugged. "She's not much for talking." 

"And you know this," Ron challenged.

Harry shrugged. "Ran into her a couple times over the summer. Where's Hermione?" 

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Off being Head Girl, and don't change the subject. You hid out with some friend of Malfoy's, didn't you?"

"What?" Harry shook his head. "Are you _mad_? I wouldn't trust any of them -- _he_ wouldn't trust any of them!"

"But you saw Bulstrode." 

"She _collided_ with me when I was wearing my Invisibility Cloak. No, I stayed with the twins." 

"WHAT?" Ginny shrieked.

"Well, not in their flat, you know? I'd expect Voldemort to have that checked. The new shop." 

"I was _open_!"

"Only for the last two days. I took a flask of Polyjuice Potion and spent the time in Muggle London." 

"How can you say the Burrow is too risky and then take a chance like _that?_ " 

"I'm not going to endanger your family!" Harry shouted. He bit his lip. "The Burrow was too risky for _you_. For all of you. It's about the same for me."

Ron sank to a seat. Ginny's scowl turned more pensive. "And the twins?" she asked wryly. 

"What they were doing was unlikely to be noticed. Ginny, if I'd gone to your house, Voldemort would have known. You know he would've." 

She nodded, and sat also, looking between the two of them before selecting the spot beside her brother. "You should write to Mum. She was hurt."

"I told Ron--"

"And he said. But you should write to her."

"She's not my mother!"

"True, but that doesn't mean you don't owe her anything."

Harry sighed. Draco had said -- or rather, implied -- much the same thing. "All right. I'll write to her tonight." He slouched back and kicked at his trunk, which was still on the floor. "Since Draco won't meet me anyway." 

"Has he lost interest?" Ron asked, just a little too eagerly. Harry responded with a rude gesture, which made Ginny laugh. 

"So eloquent, boys." 

"If you must know, he says he'd love to see me, 'but Slytherin doesn't work that way.' Apparently the first night back is too socially important for him to disappear." 

"Is he back in the Slytherin dormitories?" Ginny asked. 

"Yes."

"Is that safe?" Ron asked. "They can be a nasty lot."

Harry shrugged, trying to ignore the implied criticism of Draco. Did Ron think Gryffindors couldn't be? "He says Snape has put some protections in place, and Crabbe isn't coming back, since Goyle isn't. Nott is, but you can't have everything."

"But they'd be sharing a dormitory! How safe can he be?" 

"Malfoy has always had his own room, actually. His father used to pay for it, and apparently Snape decided he should keep it this year 'for security reasons.'"

Ron rolled his eyes and looked away. 

"Still dangerous, though," Harry continued. "I've asked Bulstrode to keep an eye on him for me."

"Oh! Was that why she was here?"

"Well, it's why I talked to her this summer. We have a deal." 

"And that other kid?"

"Zabini. He's been friendly since last spring." Harry decided to push ahead. "You know, since the House Cup." 

Ron glowered. "Yeah. I can imagine."

Ignoring Ron's darkening mood, Harry continued conversationally. "Draco thinks you may have the Sight, you know," he said. 

"What?"

"My brother?" Ginny chimed in incredulously. 

Harry chuckled. "Well, he said if that wasn't pissing in the House Cup, nothing was."

For a moment, Ron just stared at him. Then he burst out laughing, rough and tight, as if it were choking him to find that funny. A moment later, he was lying on the train seat, punching the back rest. After the fit passed, he lay there, grinning at the luggage rack, with the atmosphere in the room considerably lightened. 

"You're mad, Harry. You know that, don't you?" 

"Could you fill me in?" Ginny asked. "What about, um, in the cup?" 

"It was Ron's off-the-cuff-interpretation of a divination picture," Harry explained. "Last spring. Draco had things to say about it." 

"He'll be disappointed," Ron said obliquely. 

Harry snorted. "He didn't seem to be. Really, if I was _that_ , er, large--"

Ginny giggled. 

"What, have you _done_ it?" Ron exclaimed, offended. "I thought you weren't--"

"Over the summer."

"So you met up with _him,_ while Hermione and I get pushed off?"

"At the trial, you prat! In his room. I slept there."

"Figuratively, as well as literally?" Ginny suggested. 

"Right." 

"Could we not talk about this in front of my sister?"

"You started it!"

"Yes, but she was supposed to be _embarrassed_." 

"Oh, I don't know. She looks fairly red."

"So do you," Ginny replied tartly. "And you haven't even given us any details!" 

"I'm not going to tell you _details_!" 

"Lavender does." 

Before Ron could get out more than an indignant "Ginny!" they were interrupted by the door opening. Ron hastened to sit up. 

"Hello?" Neville said tentatively. 

"Hi, Neville! Come in." Harry shifted over in invitation, and Neville came in and sat beside him. Harry tried to pretend he wasn't flushed. "Have a good summer?" 

Neville nodded nervously. "Pretty good. Glad to be getting out of my Gran's house, though. How about you?" He blushed. "I mean, I know about the trial, but --" 

"After that, I went back to the Dursleys' until right before my birthday, and then I went into hiding."

"With Fred and George," Ron protested. 

"Yeah. They were pretty good about it. Gave me Polyjuice Potion, even, so I could get out a bit." Harry glanced around at them. He didn't want Ron to start talking about Bulstrode. "So, has everyone decided what they're taking? I want to pick up Cursebreaking. I've skimmed through the text a bit, and it looks brilliant." 

"You've skimmed through the _text?_ " Ron repeated. 

"I didn't _read_ it!" 

"Heaven forefend!" Ginny commented, rolling her eyes. 

"Well, he has gone a bit odd!" Ron insisted. 

Neville looked nervously among them. "I read anything I can in advance," he said, and Harry immediately felt guilty. Ron didn't want him to be too studious, but it was a sort of showing off, wasn't it, for them to say they could manage without studying? 

"That's good of you," he said awkwardly. "I should probably do that." 

Neville shrugged. "It doesn't help me much in lessons. I forget everything when I'm called on. It helps with essays, though." 

"Have you ever tried memory enhancing potions?" Harry asked. "I was reading about gargoyle dust, this summer...." 

Choking, Neville sat up. "That can be really dangerous, Harry!"

"Yeah? I thought it was okay if you didn't take it more than twice in a month."

"Right, but what's the point of that? I think if I could remember _sometimes_ , but not--" He broke off as Hermione entered. 

"Hi?" she tried. 

Harry tried to greet her, but his voice wouldn't work.

"What's up?" she asked, puzzled. 

"They were talking about memory enhancers," Ginny told her.

"Mnemonics?" 

"Gargoyle dust," Neville explained, "but I think that--"

"Neville!" Hermione protested. "Do you have any idea how _dangerous_ that is?"

"Er, yes?"

"I think that's what he was about to tell me, Hermione," Harry said. "Go on, Neville." 

"Well, as I was saying," Neville resumed, darting nervous glances at Hermione, "you can't take it more than twice a month, and I think it would be worse if my mind worked that way twice a month. More frustrating, I mean. And I'd be ..." He looked down. "You know. Tempted." 

"What about just for tests, though?" Harry suggested.

"Harry!" Hermione, who had sat beside Ron, jumped to her feet again. "Really! I would hope that _none_ of us would ever do something so unethical, even if it were safe, which it is absolutely not!" 

"Calm down, Hermione!" Harry protested. "It's just something I read about, that's all." 

She sniffed. "I know you. You do not 'just read about' things." 

"Well, life as a fugitive is kind of boring, okay? I promise you, I have no intention of using gargoyle dust." 

"Good." Her expression softened as she looked across the aisle at him. "You don't need it, anyway. You'd be an impressive student, if you just applied yourself." 

He smiled. "Yeah. I think I got a taste of that studying with Draco, last year." 

Her nose wrinkled with distaste. "I don't think you were applying yourself last year." 

"Well, I was sometimes! More than I ever had before, really." 

"Well. You're doomed, then, with the Head Girl as a friend, and the Head Boy as a boyfriend."

"Head-- He's Head Boy?" 

"You didn't know?" Hermione winced. "Oh. Maybe I wasn't supposed to tell you. It's a nuisance, though, because he isn't on the train, and I had to lead the prefects' meeting by myself." 

"No, he hadn't...." Harry trailed off, thinking. Draco had often spoken of Hermione as a rival. "I suppose that makes sense."

"Except that he spent most of last year breaking rules!" 

"But if he's the top boy in our class, that doesn't matter so much, does it?" Harry retorted. "Especially if the headmaster is pleased with him now." 

"Just for politics." 

Harry stared at her. "And aren't you?"

"Yes, but that doesn't change-- Oh, never mind! The Head Boy just ought to _behave_ , that's all." She laughed. "I may feel better about it once I see him again." 

"I don't see why," Ron said crossly.

"Well, if he's friendly, still." She sighed. "I know I liked him at the end of last year; it's just hard to remember over more than five years of hating him." She glanced over at Harry. "And my parents saw one of the _Daily Prophet_ issues during the trial; I had to say that yes, that was my friend Harry that it was talking about, and yes, he was romantically involved with this other boy, and yes, that was the same Malfoy who was calling me names and making threatening comments during earlier years."

"Ah." Harry felt himself blush. "I didn't read the papers."

_"What?"_

"My job was to keep my temper." 

"But afterwards--"

"I was too busy planning my escape." He shrugged. "Anyway, it wasn't all his fault, you know. I don't do what he wants unless I _want_ to. He's just a lot of fun." 

"Well. There's a lot I don't like about your recent ideas of _fun_." 

Ron snorted. "Not to mention his recent ideas of friends." 

"Harry?" she asked. "Who have you been with?" 

Ginny sniffed. "Slytherins. There were two of them in the car when we arrived. My brother was horrified, of course." 

"Zabini and Bulstrode," Harry volunteered, as Hermione looked at him. "They're both neutrals." 

"Since when are you friends with _neutrals_ , Harry?"

He stiffened at the accusation in her tone. "Since I grew up enough to realize it could make a difference!" 

"Do you think you're _mature?_ " she challenged. "Whatever you may think, your behavior last year was anything but. What was in the papers was anything but."

"I spent the last month making my own decisions about my life," he protested, "and making them work. I'm learning how--"

Ron snorted. "You were living with the twins." 

"Not in their flat. In the shop." 

"Did you pay rent?" Hermione challenged.

Taken aback, Harry frowned for a moment. "Sort of," he said.

"How 'sort of'?"

"I supplied the money to buy the place, partially in exchange for the right to stay there. We drew up a contract and everything. Draco insisted on that, so he could put in a secrecy clause that would keep them from telling anyone." 

"Oh, so they _couldn't_ tell?" Ron said, sounding relieved. "That will make Mum feel better." 

"But what if you were seen?" Hermione persisted.

"I was careful. They supplied me with food, and when I wanted to go out, I used Polyjuice Potion and left as one of them while they were both working on the place."

She frowned for a moment, thinking, and then surprised him by smiling at him. "That's really quite clever." 

"Thanks. The Polyjuice was their addition."

"Well, good. I thought you might have been off on your own." She sniffed. "Really, I was terribly worried about you, Harry." 

"Not so much so as to track me down when you got on the train."

She blushed and smiled. "Oh, I ran into Ernie, so I knew you were safe. He was so offended!" She paused. "And he did mention a Slytherin boy." 

"Zabini," Harry said. "Look, I think it's important--"

"They are _not_ your friends."

"They could be allies!" 

"Draco was a special case," she warned.

"Forget Draco! I told you, they're _neutrals_."

"So they can't be trusted," Ron said sharply. "Stay away from them."

"Think about it!" Harry insisted, looking between them. "There are two sides to a conflict that you haven't made up your mind about. One side talks to you, and the other one doesn't. Which way will you drift?" 

"They're Slytherin!" Ron answered, throwing up his hands. "They'll go to whichever one gives them a better deal."

"Great! Then all I have to do is be better than a sadistic madman. I think I can handle that." 

"That's not exactly the choice," Hermione answered warningly. "You're not going to be Minister for Magic, Harry." 

"Neither is Voldemort!" 

In the moments of silence that followed, Harry saw everyone steadying him or herself in some way -- Ron pulling at his hair, Neville chewing at his lip, Ginny smoothing her skirt, Hermione closing her eyes. It was Hermione, almost timidly, who spoke first. 

"I don't want you as Dark Lord, Harry." 

His breath came out in a whoosh as he suddenly understood the tension. "Of course not! But it's not about that, or even about who's Minister -- it's about _influence_." 

"See, he even sounds like a Slytherin," Ron complained.

" _This_ is why we don't get anywhere!" Harry said hotly. "You think it's a virtue not to negotiate or compromise, or even to figure out _what people think_ \-- and it's not just _you_ you, I mean -- that's typical! And I'm trying to learn, and it's _working_ , and I really think I can _get_ somewhere. And with a good portion of Slytherin as allies, we could bring him down _permanently_." 

Again, there was silence, lasting until Ginny smiled brightly at him. "Good enough for me," she said. 

 

While the Hogwarts Express was pulling into the station, Harry watched out the window to see the platform move into view. Hagrid's great bulk was obvious as he waited for the first-years, but beyond him, Harry saw the glimmer of blond hair over black student robes.

"Draco's here!" he exclaimed. 

Ron rolled his eyes. "I suppose I can let him into our carriage." 

Draco, however, had other plans. By the time Harry joined him on the platform, he had a sixth-year girl by his side. After a moment of confusion, Harry placed her as the girl that had been with Zabini and the aggressive boy -- Cecil something, or maybe something Cecil -- last spring. 

"There you are, Harry!" Draco said, stepping forward to give him a frustratingly chaste embrace. "Will you ride with Linnet and me?" 

Harry eyed the girl for a moment, trying to push down his resentment. "Of course," he said, managing a smile. "Hello, Linnet." 

Ron snorted. "Come _on_ , Harry."

Harry waved him off. "I'll see you at the Welcoming Feast."

"Oh, get your brain out of your prick, will you?" Ron snapped. 

" _Ron,_ " Harry warned. 

With a rude gesture, Ron stormed off, and at a glance and nod from Harry, Hermione followed him, and Neville followed her. 

"Well." Draco motioned to the carriages. "Perhaps we should discuss that inside." 

Just as they opened the door to one of the carriages, Millicent Bulstrode stepped up to intercept them. "Room for one more?" she asked companionably. 

Harry looked at Draco in silent question, only to find Draco looking at him in much the same manner. He shrugged. "Mill's okay with me," he said cheerfully. 

Draco's eyes widened, and Millicent sniggered. Theatrically, he sighed. "I see you were _not_ a good boy over the summer." 

"I think he may be incapable of it," Millicent volunteered, as she hoisted her trunk into the carriage and then turned back to get Linnet's. Harry lightened his and nudged it into place. "But he was reasonably careful. I would have had to have been devious and determined to carry him off."

"Have you met with anyone else of questionable loyalties?" Draco asked Harry.

"Zabini, but only once, by chance."

"They came onto the train together, though," Millicent said. 

"Mm. And thus Ron's temper." Uneasy and not wanting to show it, Harry slung an arm over Draco's shoulders, and Draco cuddled down to let him. "Well, that and you." The other occupants of the carriage didn't seem like an adequate reason to hold back from kissing Draco, so he did, pinning him back against the seat when he seemed as if he might be easing away. Only when their vehicle had lurched into motion did he let up. 

"We're not alone, you know," Draco said wryly.

"Obviously. If we were alone, I'd be doing a lot more than kissing you. Sneak out tonight, Dragon, please?"

Draco smiled at him fondly, but still shook his head. "No. I'd love to, but I have responsibilities. I'm Head Boy." 

He looked terribly proud of himself, and Harry had to grin back at him. "Yeah -- I heard on the train. Congratulations." 

"Thank you." 

"I didn't think that involved plans this evening, though."

"Of course it does. I am staying in Slytherin to listen to Professor Snape's welcome, and to review the prefects, and beyond duties, to _see my friends_. And _you_ are going back to Gryffindor to show Weasley that you still _are_ friends, and to show Finnigan that you're still worthy of his protection. Is that clear?" 

Answering with an exasperated sigh, Harry thumped back against the stiff cushions. This was in keeping with their plans, but that made it no less frustrating. The carriage rocked and creaked beneath him, and he found himself looking into the evaluating study of the girl on the facing bench. "I'm on display already, apparently," he remarked. "Hello, Linnet. Sorry about ignoring you."

She was already smiling with amusement; now she attempted to rein it in. "Quite all right," she said politely. "Who is Finnigan?"

"Irish Gryffindor boy, my year?" he responded, and she smiled again. 

"I just can't imagine anyone your age who _could_ protect you."

"Oh. Well, he's the closest of us to Dean, and Dean's Muggleborn, and had a bit of a fit about me liking blokes, you know. It's nothing big, except that we share a dormitory." He glanced to the side, his mouth brushing blond hair. "Not like Draco and Nott." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, so you don't think he was one of the lot that attacked you?"

"If he was, he got over it. We were on decent terms by the end of the year. Though like a lot of people, he assumed what I did about the House Cup was vengeance on my housemates, and that really had nothing to do with it."

Millicent's heavy eyebrows lowered. "He forgives you even though he thinks that?"

"As far as I could tell, he forgives me _because_ he thinks that -- he feels they treated me badly, and I was entitled." 

Draco sniffed. "Gryffindors are strange." 

"Isn't everyone?" Harry shot back.

Linnet, who had been watching with wide eyes, giggled. Harry winked at her.

They were coming up the last curve of the drive, and he still wasn't sure why Draco had wanted him to meet this girl, but Draco wasn't leading the conversation. Instead, he snuggled contentedly into Harry's side. "This isn't enough of a reunion. Let me know when you're done meeting your Head of House tomorrow?"

"If you promise to sneak off with me," Harry returned. "Well, once you're done with yours." 

"Already had it," Draco answered. He straightened suddenly, reaching into his pocket. "Oh -- I nearly forgot! Here's my schedule. Match it as much as you can." 

"Great!" Harry glanced at the paper. He saw "Cursebreaking", but had no time for more. The carriage was rolling to a stop. They exited into a milling crowd of students, and were quickly separated. 

 

The Great Hall decorated for the Welcoming Feast was still a sight to take Harry's breath away. Just inside the door, he paused for a moment to look, and listen, and _feel,_ smiling as the crowd flowed past him. When he had acclimated enough to continue, he made his way to the Gryffindor table and settled next to Hermione. Seamus shifted over to close the gap on the other side of him, and Dean gave him a self-conscious nod. Ron, on Hermione's other side, leaned forward. 

"Have a nice ride?" he asked. 

Harry shrugged. "Privacy would have been better, but I guess it was okay. I've no idea why Draco wanted me to meet that girl, though." 

Ron might have responded, but at that moment, the doors opened, and McGonagall led in the new first-years. Hermione shook her head. "Can you believe we were that _young?_ " 

"Weren't," Seamus answered jovially. "They're taking them at six now, haven't you heard?"

People all about them stifled giggles as the Sorting Hat began its song. 

 

_In Ancient Days four comrades_  
_set out to work as one_  
_To ensure their people's future_  
_through the training of the young_  
_The pupils best inspired_  
_varied for them each_  
_So in one school four houses_  
_they formed to help them teach_  


_Ravenclaw was learned_  
_\-- some did call her cold --_  
_and favored those who knowledge loved_  
_apart from base reward_  
_Seeking ever more to know_  
_Throughout all the world below_  
_Raven ride the wind_  


_Gryffindor was fearless_  
_\-- reckless, if you will --_  
_and favored those who moved ahead_  
_trusting strength and skill_  
_With courage bright unquestioned_  
_the charge they choose defended_  
_Lion blaze the way_  


_Now Slytherin was canny_  
_\-- some did call him sly --_  
_and favored those who saw all paths_  
_both the low and high_  
_To each reward selected_  
_all action best effected_  
_Serpent flow unseen_  


_Now Hufflepuff was steady_  
_\-- boring, some might say --_  
_And favored those who persevered_  
_until they found a way_  
_Willing, true, and diligent_  
_'Do our best' their full intent_  
_Badger dig the den_  


_The whole that was once broken_  
_Must be made again_  
_Perhaps it will in this year_  
_Perhaps in ten times ten_  
_Wherever you are summoned_  
_Whoever loves you best_  
_Remember you may still_  
_Have worth to all the rest._  


The hall was quieter than usual after the Hat's song. Harry wasn't sure anyone else had liked it, although the last verse had given him a thrill of satisfaction. The staff, especially, looked put out, to a one -- except, perhaps, for a stranger, who appeared to be hiding a smile behind his cup. 

For his own part, Harry wished he had been sitting with Draco. He knew exactly how Draco would have nudged him at "reckless," and how he would have retaliated at "sly," and how their hands would have joined at the conclusion. He looked over, just as Draco finished saying something to Pansy and looked back. Their eyes met. Harry wished they could whisper to each other. 

"That must be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." It was Hermione, instead, who whispered to him, as "Atlinger, Ogden" was sorted into Slytherin. "He looks awfully young -- for a professor, I mean." 

Distracted, Harry looked back at the stranger at the staff table. After a quick scan across the others, he decided Hermione was right. This had to be the new Defense professor. He was at least a few years older than they were, but almost certainly still in his twenties. His hair was a sandy brown, and he seemed to be in constant motion, first fidgeting with his fork and then shifting restlessly in his chair. Only infrequently did he pause long enough to take in a bite of food, which might explain how thin he was. 

"Grant, Samuel" was sorted into Gryffindor, requiring Harry to return his attention to the Sorting. He clapped for the boy, whose cheeks burned pink as he crossed the hall to the cheers of his new housemates. 

After that came a nervous-looking girl with a honey-gold ponytail bound up with pink ribbon. "LeFay, Gentian," McGonagall read. The Sorting Hat took some time about it before sending her to Slytherin. Harry clapped politely, though he thought he was probably the only non-Prefect in Gryffindor to bother. 

After that, "Miller, Graham" was sorted into Hufflepuff, and "McDuffie, Robert" into Gryffindor. "Mello, Yolanda" followed. By the time the Sorting was over, Gryffindor had eleven new members, six boys and five girls, and Harry thought Slytherin had nearly as many. 

 

 

"My dear friends," Dumbledore said, as the last first-year student settled at the Ravenclaw table, "students and colleagues, let me welcome you to Hogwarts. Some of you are returning to a second home, while some have just crossed the threshold of a new adventure. Welcome, all! 

"Before we begin the marvelous feast that awaits us, I have a few announcements. First, I would like all of you to still be here at the end of the term. _Therefore_ , please remember that the Forbidden Forest is, as the name clearly states, forbidden. Second, the girls' lavatory on the second floor is closed for repairs. Third--" 

Harry didn't hear the third item. The blood in his ears drowned out everything around him. He stared across the room at Draco, and Draco stared back, but they did not spontaneously develop telepathy. The second-floor bathroom! If they couldn't get in there, how would they get down to the Chamber of Secrets? Harry didn't believe it was chance. Dumbledore must know what he was doing. 

Despite his worries, it was impossible not to enjoy the Welcoming Feast. While he sampled delicious dishes, Hermione was cheerfully babbling about what options to take for her final year. A stranger might have called it fretting, but Harry could tell she was enjoying every tortured choice. Some of the younger students were looking at him and whispering, but everyone in his year seemed to be fine -- even Dean gave him a quick smile. Further down the table, Damian, one of the Gryffindor Beaters, pointed to him and said something to the younger girl with him. Harry felt his relaxed mood fade. Hermione tsked. 

"I wish the younger ones wouldn't gossip about you. It's not as if they can't speak to you in the common room. Do you see how they're staring?"

"Mm, yeah." Harry pushed his nearly empty dinner plate a few inches away. "I'm wondering if I should have brought my hip flask."

"You have a hip flask?" Hermione asked, scandalized. Harry was aware of the conversations around them fading. 

"Of course," he said. "Hermione, I practically _lived_ on Polyjuice Potion--"

Seamus sprayed pumpkin juice halfway across the table. Dean and Ron burst out laughing. Hermione laughed too, the sound tight and high with nerves. "You're awful," she said, when she could.

The spattered juice vanished and desserts appeared. Harry grinned and pounced on the treacle tart. "Let them stare." 

 

After dinner, the seventh-year students stayed together on the walk up to Gryffindor. Harry said hello to Parvati, who blushed and made polite conversation for a flight of steps, and to Lavender, who gave him a flirtatious look and then resumed her conversation with a sixth-year boy. Hermione left them to attend to the first-years, so when they got to the tower, the boys continued up to their dormitory. There, they settled down, Harry and Ron on Ron's bed, and Dean and Neville on Seamus's bed, and Seamus on the window seat between. Harry floated his trunk out as a table and brought out Muggle ginger chews, and Ron chocolate frogs, and Seamus some sort of oat thing that wasn't half bad. 

For a while, Harry just listened to the others chat about their summers, and at first, they let him stay out of it. It was Dean who finally looked his way. 

"So, Harry," he began. His voice was carefully neutral, and Harry tensed, expecting an attack about Draco. "One of the Slytherins came by our carriage, can you believe that? Didn't even try to pick a fight. He was asking about you."

That was interesting. Harry tried to keep his voice as light. "Really? Do you know who?" 

"Zabini," Seamus said. 

"Wanted to know how you spend your money, how you treat your friends, that sort of thing." 

"Ah. What did you tell him?"

Dean shrugged. "You and Ron are either best friends or not speaking, but it's all straightforward, and you're fair more than not, and I didn't know you _had_ money until Malfoy got to you."

Harry couldn't keep from looking at Ron, who was turning red. He thought he must be himself. 

"That is," Seamus added, shrugging, "not more money than it took to buy a sackful of sweets to share, but what else would we have bought at that age?"

"How did he react?" Harry asked, worried. 

Dean sniggered. "Like a Slytherin." 

"Considering it," Seamus qualified.

Dean twitched, and for a moment, Harry thought that something about the account bothered him, but then he reached into his sleeve. "Splotch woke up," he explained, and with an apologetic dip of his head, reached into his sleeve. When he drew out a rat, Ron visibly flinched. 

"Sorry," Ron said quickly. 

Harry tried not to let his own tension show. At least the rat was nothing like Scabbers. It was a young, sleek animal, its body mostly white, and its head mostly brown, but with a glossy brown patch on one white flank, and a white blaze down its brown face. Its pink nose twitched curiously, vibrating white whiskers. On his arm, Harry felt a tightening, just as Susara's curiosity nudged into his mind. He gave her silent permission to move, and she wound down his arm and peeked out, testing the air with her tongue. 

Dean's rat, now on the bedspread, raised its back and rattled its tail, producing an uncharacteristic hiss from Susara. 

_"Pet!"_ Harry scolded. _"He is too big for you to fight."_

_"I want it to leave,"_ she retorted sulkily.

_"He belongs with--"_ Names would not translate. _"My den-friend. He will not leave."_

_"It –"_ Her tongue flickered again. _"She belongs with your friend like me with you?"_ she asked uncertainly. 

_"Yes."_

_"Ssss."_ With a contemptuous flick of her tail, Susara went up his arm, this time setting possessively around the back of his neck. Harry stroked her and chuckled at the sight of Dean similarly soothing his rat. 

"Care to translate?" Seamus suggested, raising an eyebrow. 

Harry shrugged. "What do you expect? He's my roommate's; he lives here too." 

Dean smiled weakly. " _She,_ actually, but yeah. That's about what I'd tell her if I could." 

The silence grew too long. Neville cleared his throat. "So," he said bravely, as if Ron wasn't rigid with tension, and Dean visibly uneasy, "what are people going to ask for? Tomorrow, I mean. For lessons." 

"I'm dropping Potions," Ron said quickly. 

"Me too," Dean agreed, and they shared a quick, relieved smile. 

"I wish I could," Neville said mournfully.

Ron nudged him. "Your gran won't let you?"

Neville looked offended. "That's not her decision now. No, it's Herbology. I know that's what I want a career in, and I need supplemental Potions knowledge for most options. It doesn't have to be a high NEWT -- I can get a tutor and retake a qualifying exam in many cases -- but I need to have attempted the NEWT to qualify for that."

"Rough," Ron sympathized. 

"At least I can drop Transfiguration," Neville said. "That will give me more time. I'm still deciding about Charms."

"I'm dropping Care of Magical Creatures," Harry said, glad to be talking about something safe. "And I'd better tell Hagrid before someone else does -- first thing tomorrow probably." 

Ron looked sympathetic. "Can't say as I blame you, but he'll take that hard."

"Well, I want to take Cursebreaking and Symbology, so I had to drop four." 

"Let me guess: Divination, Potions, and Herbology?" 

"Divination, Herbology, and History of Magic." 

Ron stared. "Not Potions? Are you feeling all right in the head, mate?" 

Trying to pretend he didn't notice Seamus's intent study, Harry focused on Ron and shrugged. "Well, you know. Like Neville, I think I may need it." 

"Ah." Ron sat back. "Yeah, I suppose if you want to try for the Aurors or something...."

Harry nodded. _Or something._ "Right," he said. "I'd like to keep my options open." 

Seamus was still watching them. 

 


	13. Positioning

 

Harry had planned to look for Draco after his conference, but there was no need. When he stepped out of McGonagall's office, Draco pushed off from the opposite wall of the corridor. "Shall we walk?" he said, by way of greeting. 

"Um, fine. How did you know--?" 

"Hermione told me, of course. Let's go outside. It's a pleasant day." Draco led the way to the staircase and down the broad steps. "Schedule all set?"

Outside would provide some chance of privacy, which the tricky echoes of Hogwarts corridors made difficult. "Yeah," Harry answered. "It looks good." _We're mostly in lessons together._ "Professor McGonagall was surprised that I wanted to keep Potions, but it's a requirement for some jobs -- Auror, for example. I told her I wanted to keep my options open." 

Draco shot him a hard look, but then nodded. "And it would be a pity to waste my spellfather's expertise. But for the political situation, you wouldn't have a brewer of his measure teaching anyone but his own apprentice." They crossed the Entrance Hall. "Any surprises?" 

"Mm. That Professor Dumbledore didn't ask to see me." Harry pulled the door open, and they crossed into the sunlight. It was fair, but chilly. "I was expecting words about crossing him." The door shut behind them, and Harry breathed more easily. No one else was in sight. 

"Perhaps you had them by proxy," Draco said, striding quickly away from the walls and any potential open windows. "The second floor girls' bathroom?" 

"Yeah," Harry said grimly.

"And I expect you noticed that we received exactly nothing that we were promised."

"It would be hard to miss."

"Do you suppose the headmaster thinks we will have forgotten?" 

"I have no idea." Harry let out a quick breath. "I'll talk to him. I mean, unless you want to." 

Draco pursed his lips. "No. It had better be you. Attempt to be civil, however." 

Nodding, Harry set the matter aside. "Now, about the Chamber...." 

Looking back nervously, Draco made a chopping motion with one hand. "Later. I want to know what you promised Snape." 

"What?"

Draco raised his eyebrows in a scornful look that Harry thought came more from his spellfather than his father. "What was your end of the deal, Potter?"

_Potter?_ Harry stared. "What makes you think there was a deal?"

Draco huffed. "Don't think I'll fall for that. You're trying to decide what lies might work." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "And you don't actually _know_ anything. And I don't know what you're talking about, so I can't answer." 

"If it's more lessons, I'll catch you out, you know. I have the Quiris." 

Harry stared at him incredulously, and Draco's sneer dissolved into a sigh. They were a good distance from the castle, now. "When Professor Snape talked to the house last night, he said that you should be regarded as a potentially valuable resource, and as such, were to be considered as under his personal protection."

"Oh." Harry bit his lip. "Um, I didn't consider that anything so formal as a _deal_ , but yeah. He offered me re-Sorting, and I said I'd be more valuable to him as a Gryffindor."

"Ah. Well, he's helped you significantly. You still won't be _safe_ in Slytherin, but your potential attackers will be fewer. Did you promise anything in particular in return?" 

Harry shook his head. "An alliance. I _asked_ for things, really -- that he let me try to win support in his house, and that he look the other way about us."

Thoughtfully, Draco nodded. "For you to use Slytherin, though ... That would be a benefit to us in itself, in some ways."

"I suppose. And he badly wants Voldemort destroyed, I expect." 

"So he knows about you." 

Harry couldn't remember if he and Snape had discussed his extraordinary potential to destroy Voldemort. On the other hand, Dumbledore may have told any number of people. "I think so. Not from me, but ...." Harry shrugged. "He seems to. We've certainly discussed how I might go about it." 

"Not surprising, really."

"Yeah." 

Draco looked over his shoulder again, and then led the way to some nearby rocks, in a middle of a clear space. "Let's sit. I think we're safely out of earshot of anything visible." 

"Any visible human, you mean." 

Sniffing, Draco rolled his eyes. "Most people don't think of that, you know." 

"Most haven't been bitten by it twice." Harry cast a spell that Snape had taught him. He and Draco glowed briefly, but he didn't see any other bright spots. "We seem to be the only magical beings in range."

"Clever." Draco did not sound as if the cleverness pleased him. "Who taught you that one?"

"Snape. He said it's not Dark, even." 

"It's not," Draco said flatly. "However, it is considered _rude_ among wizards and witches, and doing it in front of Muggles would violate the Statute of Secrecy."

"It was just in front of you," Harry protested. "We know who we are, right?"

"Did Snape explain all that to you?" Draco persisted.

"Yes. Well, the rude part seemed like more around strangers who might be Squibs...."

"That's how it _became_ rude," Draco corrected. 

"Ah." Harry ducked his head. "Should I ask next time, then?" 

"Please do." Draco finally stopped frowning. "It _was_ the right solution, though. And it's a good one for you to know, I suppose. So, let's talk." 

Harry thought back to when Draco had cut him off. "The Chamber?"

"Exactly." 

"Dumbledore might just be trying to force me to come and talk to him." 

"Mm. Or he might want to be sure we're not together alone."

"Then he should have come through with the Uncommon Room, shouldn't he?" 

Draco laughed. "The thought did occur to me. At any rate, don't mention the girls' bathroom when you talk to him. He's only guessing, and it would confirm the guess." 

"What do you suggest we do, then? 

Draco shrugged. "There must be spells to cut doors. We need that spell and a way to determine which rooms are directly below Myrtle's bathroom, on either side of that chute, so we can gain access to the tunnel."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then we will try the ones below that. The dungeons go over that far. The chute needs to be between rooms on each level. There must be some way to get into it." 

"You don't think Salazar Slytherin would have put protections on it?" 

Draco shook his head. "You can't protect every square foot of something that large. Traditionally, one concentrates on the entrance, and has a sequence of them, as he did."

Harry nodded. "All right."

"So. We get to spend our afternoons together ... in the library."

"I'd much rather spend them in your bed." 

Draco bit his lip. "Don't. I don't dare yet, and you'll tempt me."

Harry felt a surge of relief lessen a tension that he hadn't known was there. "Will I?" he asked, reaching out to touch the side of Draco's face. Draco closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

"Merlin, yes." 

"Are we done talking?" Harry crossed his foot over one of Draco's, rubbing their ankles together with a subtle motion. "Shall we find some place a little more visually private?"

Draco hissed in surprise. "Yes."

"The birch grove by the lake?" 

"In the hemlocks would be more concealing." Draco smirked. "But I prefer the symbolism of birches. Yes." 

They started to walk again, angling over to the lake, this time. "That doesn't make any sense to me, you know. But I am taking Symbology, this year." 

"Good! You could use it." Draco's hand stole into his. "Though your intuition is good. Hemlocks are death and sorrow. Birches are birth and creativity."

Harry laughed and gave his hand a little squeeze. "Well, birth is out of the question, but I enjoy your creativity."

"Ah, but it can be a symbolic birth -- the birth of a spell, of a plot, of..." Draco stopped and shrugged. "Anything."

He sounded almost sad at the last. Harry didn't know what to say at the turn of mood, so they walked in silence all the way to the trees. When the leaves veiled them to all but the keenest eyes, he decided there were easier things than talking. He stopped, and tugged Draco's hand, and when Draco turned towards him, covered any question with a kiss.

To his relief, Draco returned it, first with warmth, and then with increasing desire. Harry set his hands at the small of Draco's back and pulled him close.

"Oh," Draco sighed, pressing into the contact. "Mm." Harry wondered if this was a good idea. He was hard already. Then Draco pushed one hip forward, dragging his erection over Harry's, and Harry knew it was a splendid idea. He dragged Draco's robes to the side so he could open the front without needing space between them. Draco lifted his head. 

"Let's lie down. No should be able to see us in that hollow."

Harry's heart was racing. "Sure." He let Draco lead him a few yards further, to where the ground dropped a couple of feet. Draco cast a quick charm on it and sank gracefully down, Harry following more clumsily after. 

"We have to leave our clothes on though," Draco whispered. "In case someone comes here, like Cecilius, last year."

 "Damn."

"Oh here -- let me push your robes up." In a few seconds, Draco was fumbling with Harry's zip, his knuckles brushing haphazardly over Harry's cock. "In an emergency, just do the button and drop your robes into place." 

"Done this before?" Harry asked, nipping Draco's ear, while he worked a hand under Draco's robes, bunching them up and getting in his way. Draco panted harshly at the contact.

"Last autumn, yeah. In the dormitory." 

_So, Zabini, then._ He was too thoroughly out of the picture for Harry to be jealous. 

"That must have --" Harry had no idea what he'd been going to say. Draco had his hand in Harry's trousers and wrapped around Harry's cock, and his brain wasn't bothering with anything else. "God." It took him a few fumbling tries to get enough access to reciprocate. "Not enough."

"It'll do for now."

"Yeah." He sucked at the edge of Draco's ear, and then at his neck. It took the edge off the need to have something else. Draco's cock in his mouth, he remembered. That, maybe. He tightened his grip around that hard shaft. How could that feel so good, just in his hand? "Fuck. Want you."

Draco laughed shakily. "I won't let you fuck me yet. And not here in any case." 

"Didn't--" 

"I know."

 

It was over far too fast. Harry had to bite hard to hold in the noises his body wanted to make, and the world went black at the edges, narrowing to a section of skin and hair. Slowly, it widened again, and he realized he was lying limply on the ground, with quite a lot of mess in and over his robes. 

"Oh." 

"Mm. Did that take the edge off for now?"

Harry groaned. "For a few hours, maybe."

Draco ran a finger over his lips. Harry nipped at it, and then flicked his tongue over the pad. 

"Hm. Well, consider this my vengeance for last spring. I won't tease you nearly as thoroughly as you did me, I promise."

"Obviously." Harry sucked the tip of the finger in and watched Draco's eyes close. He continued with that for a minute, moving his mouth up and down it in a mimicry of fellatio, until Draco was squirming. That accomplished, he lifted his head away. "For how long?"

Draco sat up. "Until we're back in the Chamber. It will give us incentive. Cleaning charms, now." 

 

After lunch, Harry went to talk to Dumbledore. It took him only four tries to guess the password (ice mice), and then he was rising up the spiral stairs. As he had almost expected, the headmaster called him in immediately. 

"Mr. Potter," he said. "What a pleasant surprise." 

"Is it?" Harry shot back. "That's hard to believe." 

"I'm always glad to see you." 

Harry shrugged, but relaxed enough to sit down. "Even if that's true, I don't believe you're surprised." 

With a sideways nod that seemed to both acknowledge and dismiss the remark, Dumbledore resettled himself behind the desk. "You feel we have something to discuss?"

"Mixed house social space. Pick-up Quidditch. You promised us both of those, but you didn't mention either of them."

"I see." Dumbledore didn't seem in any hurry to answer. "I had expected a different inquiry. Is that all?"

"Yes." Harry glanced down for a moment. "From my side, anyway." 

Stroking his beard, Dumbledore leaned back. "I should point out, of course, that you have hardly been cooperative yourself. I was very concerned, you know, by your disappearance."

"Which was why I let Remus know I was okay." 

"An appreciated accommodation, but still not what you were instructed to do. It would have been better if you had waited."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. "I don't believe that. The Dursleys would have been in danger."

"I had made arrangements for their protection--"

"Which weren't necessary, were they? As I managed things, that is."

"True, Mr. Potter, but that was not my primary concern." Dumbledore straightened, looking at him over steepled hands. "Your safety is of the utmost importance--"

"I was safe enough."

"Perhaps, but I have far more experience in evaluating and mitigating risk. I had hoped that you would trust that."

"I _do_ trust your experience! Of course you have a better idea than I do what can be done. What I _don't_ trust is your priorities, and you _won't_ listen to what matters to me."

For a moment, Dumbledore was silent. When he spoke, his voice was querulous, as if he were puzzling over the matter. "You have never expressed any affection for your mother's relatives."

"I don't have any! I just don't want to be the cause of any more deaths, even if they aren't really my fault. And you probably would have had me go to the Burrow next, and then the Weasleys wouldn't have been safe."

Dumbledore relaxed back. "Ah. I see. Harry, none of the guilt for Cedric's murder, or Arthur's--" 

"I know that! It's not _guilt_. It's just ..." Harry tried to think. "Determination. My personal goal for this year, all right?"

Dumbledore's mouth lifted in a quick smile. "I believe Professor McGonagall had been hoping for something more academically oriented." He peered at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "You do remember that you have N.E.W.T.s this year, I hope?"

"Between Hermione and Draco, am I likely to forget?"

Dumbledore laughed. "Ah, yes! I had not considered it in quite that light." All trace of reproach had vanished, leaving his manner as cheerful and guileless as he had seemed when Harry first saw him. "Well. Let us return to your original question then, shall we? I have not forgotten, and I hope that by now you would know that my word is good. The first week of school, however, seems a bad time to implement changes, and several of the professors were none too happy when I introduced these ideas last spring. After everyone has settled in, I will bring the matter up again." He smiled. "I must tell you, Professor McGonagall's support will be much easier to come by if you and Mr. Malfoy manage to stay out of trouble." 

Harry did his best not to show his growing rage. "Professor Snape's too, I expect," he said, almost lightly. 

"Perhaps, perhaps. Although with Severus, one never can tell. And his support may lose you that of your own head of house." 

"Understood, sir." Harry got to his feet. "Thank you for seeing me." 

"My dear boy, not at all!" Dumbledore replied, beaming, as he rose to shake Harry's hand. "You are always welcome to visit. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"

"No," Harry said steadily. "Nothing." 

 

He wasn't going to fall for it, he decided, as he descended from the office. Professor Dumbledore could put him off forever with stories of disagreement among the staff, but what he could have wasn't defined by what the headmaster would give to him. He had made his own way before, and he would do it again. Feeling strangely cheerful, Harry started off down the corridor. Ron should be back by now. They could compare schedules, and maybe he could start to sound Ron out on the divination. 

Turning the corner, he saw a group of small students by the stairs. Two of them were pointing in different directions, and one had hidden her face in her hands, and the last had sat down on the floor in a despairing huddle. Harry quickened his pace. 

"Lost?" he called cheerfully, when he was near. Arms came down with guilty speed. The boy on the floor scrambled to his feet. Familiarly wide-eyed stares fixed on him, but Harry suspected that any seventh-year would have produced almost as strong a reaction. 

"No, we're just--"

"Sammy!"

Harry laughed. "If anyone here tells you they didn't get lost as a first-year, they're lying." He studied them for a minute. All four were Gryffindors. He recalled the dusky-skinned girl as having an odd name, and one of the boys as being Mc-something. With a smile, he held out his hand to the closest boy. "Hi. I'm Harry."

The wide-eyed look returned, perhaps at the reminder of who he was. "Er, hello, Mr.-- um, Harry. I'm Rob, Rob McDuffie."

"Pleased to meet you, Rob," Harry said, and went on to the girl, who gave her name as Yolanda. When introductions were finished, he looked around at them all. "Okay. First thing, don't be embarrassed about getting lost. Not for at least a couple of weeks, anyway. Now, why don't you all follow me? I'll show you how to get back to the tower, and we can make a stop at the library on the way, so you'll know where that is." He grinned. "And then next time you get lost, you don't need a Gryffindor. _Anyone_ can tell you how to get to the library, and you'll know how to get to Gryffindor from there."

They looked at each other. "But don't ask a Slytherin, right?" Sammy said. Yolanda looked despairingly at him, her thick, dark braid swinging with the motion. Harry met her eyes and gave her a quick smile. 

"Well," he said, "the Slytherins aren't all bad, you know. But there is a good deal of house rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, so you should take anything they tell you with a grain of salt. I'd say ask, but be polite when you do it, and cautious about the answer -- don't just blindly do what you're told." 

"If we can't trust the answer, why ask?" Rob demanded. 

"Well, if you do, maybe it won't get as bad in your year as it is in mine." 

"But people from other houses won't know where Gryffindor tower is?" Sammy cut in. 

"Most won't." Harry started up the steps, moving at a leisurely pace, so they could still talk easily. "I don't know where Hufflepuff is, and I'm not exactly sure of Ravenclaw, though I could probably find it. I do know where Slytherin is."

"Because Draco Malfoy is your sweetheart, right?" Yolanda said quickly. Sammy turned and stared. She giggled. "It said so in Witch Weekly."

"Well, yes and no," Harry answered. "I mean, he is my, um, boyfriend, but that's not why I know. The thing is that we hated each other up until last year, and one time -- when I was in my second year -- a friend and I followed him down there, because we were certain he was doing something awful, and we planned to catch him."

"Oh!" 

"Anyway, this floor is the library. Let me show you; we'll go to the door, and then walk back." 

They didn't ask him any more questions about his relationship with Draco -- Harry suspected that the boys were too young to understand, and it was clear that Yolanda had the idea only in a vague gossip-column sort of way. He got them talking about their first classes instead. They had had Herbology, which Sammy said didn't seem so magical. He was delighted with Charms. Potions had terrified all of them. 

"Have you had your first Flying lesson yet?" Harry asked Sammy, and Sammy had made a face.

"Don't. I won't believe _anything_ , you know, just because my parents are Muggles."

"What?" Harry looked at him in surprise. 

"People don't _fly_. Professor Flitwick said so." 

Rob and Jeremy burst out laughing. Yolanda clapped her hands over her mouth. 

"People don't," Harry answered cheerily. "But brooms can. You _will_ have a few flying lessons, and it's brilliant! I play Quidditch, which is a Wizarding sport played on brooms."

"He's really good at it, too," Rob said, eager to talk about something he understood. "He was mentioned in "Young players to watch" in _Quidditch Review_ last year." 

"I'll bring down an issue or two for you, when we get back to Gryffindor," Harry offered, in sympathy. "I know it's confusing; I was raised by Muggles too --"

"You were?" Yolanda asked. "I thought your parents were magical."

"Well they were, but Voldemort killed them. And my mother was Muggleborn, and I went to her sister when I was still a baby." He shrugged. "Anyway, don't worry, Sammy. You'll learn your way around."

 

Once inside the tower, the first-years split, the boys disappearing up the boys' staircase, and Yolanda running over to two other first-year girls. Harry looked around for Ron, didn't see him, and started over to the sofas by the fireplace. 

Just as he was leaning back against the cushions, a girl plopped down into the place beside him. Startled, he twisted to find Parvati looking at him. 

"Hi!" she said.

"Er, hi?"

"You looked almost tall, you know, walking in with a gaggle of first-years. It's good to see you're still my size."

"Oh, thanks!"

"Don't mention it. Did they get lost?"

"Yeah. They'd fallen into despair at one of the third floor landings. I told them it happens to everyone." 

She chuckled. "They were probably mortified, just the same." She glanced down. "Well ... how was your summer?"

He had to think about it for a moment. "A lot better than usual, and you probably know about the worst moments. I mostly hid out, after the trial." 

"Ah." She shrugged. "So, I heard Hermione and Ginny arguing about what you said on the train." 

"Oh? Which thing I said?" 

"About the Slytherins being able to help. The Ravenclaws could too, you know." 

Harry nodded. "Right. Remember the Interhouse Common Room project?" 

Parvati nodded. She and her sister had been part of the group that Harry had invited to discuss the matter last spring. They had only met twice. Dumbledore had showed up to the second meeting, listened carefully, and said that he had sufficient information. 

"Well, you've noticed it wasn't mentioned at the Welcoming Feast, I expect. So I went to talk to Professor Dumbledore." 

"And?" she prompted, when he hesitated. 

"Well, he said he wants everyone to 'settle in' first, but I'm not sure he'll actually do it."

"No?" Her brow furrowed. "But why wouldn't he?"

Harry grabbed at air, trying to form his vague suspicions into words. "He likes to be in control. If we actually start to cooperate, it will diminish his control." 

Parvati laughed. "I don't disapprove of Draco, Harry, but you're spending too much time with Slytherins. Give him a few weeks before you suspect the worst." 

He sighed. "All right. You're probably right -- but it's not Slytherins, I think, just a month of hiding from everyone." 

"I'll bring it up with Professor McGonagall," Parvati offered.

"That would be great." 

Seamus wandered over then. "Why the conference?" he asked. 

"Oh, it's that interhouse common space issue," Parvati said, stretching back. They kissed, long and deep, making two nearby fifth-years giggle. Harry wondered if he should leave, but when they finally finished, and Seamus had sat at the other side of Parvati, he looked at Harry. "That still on?" he asked.

"What?" _Oh, the common room. Does he realize how long they were kissing?_ "We hope so, but not right away." 

"Too bad," Seamus said. "Of course, it doesn't matter when the weather's good."

Harry nodded, remembering that morning, and hoped he wasn't blushing. 

"Harry?" came a tentative little voice. He turned to see Yolanda standing beside the sofa. "One of the third-years told Evie that Professor Snape is a vampire, and now she wants to go home. Will you come and talk to her?"

"Course," Harry answered, standing up. He grinned at Seamus, who was trying unsuccessfully to muffle a laugh, and Parvati who was managing an almost convincing concerned expression. "Catch you two later." 

 

He didn't see Ron until dinner, when he finally showed up, Hermione's hand held firmly in his. 

"I was wondering where you were," Harry said quietly, as they sat down. "Catching up, huh?"

"Don't I wish," Ron muttered.

"Ah," Seamus said. "T'was a fond reunion with her darling library, was it, then?" 

Ron whooped, and Hermione looked offended. "It's important to--" 

"Hermione," Harry said urgently. "Together again, right?"

"I know, but ...." Her shoulders twisted in a helpless shrug. "This is our N.E.W.T. year!"

"Hermione," Harry said again, " _September._ " 

"But it's so easy to fall behind...!" For a moment, she lifted her hands in front of her face. "I know," she said, her face still hidden. "I know I shouldn't panic yet, but...."

"It's our N.E.W.T year, yes," Harry completed. "But you'll do fine." He looked over at Ron. "Make her relax tonight, okay?" 

"And if you can't," Seamus added, "get another girl."

Harry couldn't help laughing. Seamus appreciated it. Ron and Hermione did not, but they accepted his apology, and dinner went on. 

 

Throughout the meal, Harry found his eyes straying to the Slytherin table. They no longer seemed as intimidating -- nor as alike -- as they had in years past. Draco was sitting between Linnet, whom Harry had found pleasant enough, and Zabini, whom he thought he rather liked. Millicent was sitting further down, in seemingly friendly argument with a younger boy that Harry didn't recognize, but who laughed with almost Gryffindor abandon. Pansy Parkinson, looking as unpleasant as ever, sat with Daphne Greengrass and two younger girls, one of whom kept glancing uncomfortably away. Near them was Theodore Nott, the only one that Harry was still sure of as an enemy, now that Crabbe was gone. 

Perhaps he should go down to Slytherin after dinner and see what happened. He had planned to wait until further into the term, but now that plan reminded him unpleasantly of Dumbledore's delay on his promises. Tonight, he decided. He didn't need the Slytherins settled. He didn't _want_ them settled, and their alliances negotiated. Just a quick visit, to see how they reacted. _And I can stop by Snape's room on the way back and pay what I owe him for the divination._ He had been carrying the money since morning, but on his one trip down to Snape's office, had found the door closed. After that, other things had distracted him. 

Accordingly, he lingered at the dinner table until most of the students had left, and Hermione was starting to look restless, and then got to his feet. 

"Back to Gryffindor?" Ron said eagerly, rising as well. 

Hermione shook her head. "I still haven't found half the recommended texts for Ancient Runes."

"You're not supposed to find them all before the class starts, Hermione," Harry said patiently. 

"I've been trying to tell her that. Maybe if we both take an arm...."

Grinning, Harry shook his head. "No. I have other plans." 

"Harry..." Hermione warned. 

"Nothing elaborate," Harry said. "In fact, they may even involve the library, but I have to go down to the dungeons first."

"Do you think that's safe?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing. 

Harry shrugged. "Maybe not, but I'm a Gryffindor, aren't I?" 

"Strange way to put it," Ron groused. 

"Do be careful, Harry." 

"I will." 

 

He walked down to Slytherin openly, no cloak, no subterfuge -- not that there was anyone to see, for most of the way. In the last stretch, he heard light footsteps racing behind him, and turned to see two small children whip around the corner. He recognized one as the first-year girl that the Hat had taken so long to sort. They clattered to a stop beside him. 

"What are _you_ \--" the girl began, but then the boy took off again. "Not _fair_!" she shouted, as she pursued him. Harry chuckled to himself. Definitely a Sorting problem. He lengthened his stride, and caught the shifting section of wall before it could close behind their argument. The stones stopped in mid slide, much like the door to a lift, probably due to much the same safety considerations, however differently fulfilled. 

"You can't--" the boy tried, but Harry poked his head in, checking those closest for people he knew. 

"Zabini!" he called. "Is Draco around?" 

Silence shot outward from his voice, a few words at the edge of the room briefly audible in the central quiet. Everyone stared. Shrugging, Harry stepped through the door. "Please?" he asked, half-jokingly, and there was a strangled laugh from someone. 

"You are not supposed to be here, Potter," came a harsh voice. Nott. Harry pretended to be unconcerned. 

"Really?" he said, leaning back against the now-closed door panel - for safety as well as a pose; no one could come at him from behind. He flexed his arm slightly against the length of his wand. "I'd heard a rumor that Snape implied I could visit." 

"I believe," said Draco's voice from the door to the right of the fireplace, "that he expected you to be _somewhat_ circumspect." He sounded amused as well as exasperated, and Harry smiled at him as he came into sight through the crowd around the fire. 

"Why would he expect that?" he asked innocently. "I'm a Gryffindor." People were still staring, but less as if they were waiting for him to die on the spot.

"Excuses!" Draco scoffed. "You're perfectly capable of sneaking, Harry." 

"But why bother?" Harry returned. "I'm just here to ask if you want to come to the library." 

"Why? Do you need help already?" 

"Ha! Not until lessons start, at least." 

"Hm." Draco looked thoughtful. "I did have a few things I'd wanted to look up...." 

"So you'd mentioned. Thus the invitation." 

"All right, then. Just let me get something to take notes with." 

As he walked back into the boys' dormitories, Millicent moved forward, shielding Harry from Nott as if by accident. He suspected otherwise. As a Beater, she knew all about interference. 

"How's Gryffindor?" she asked. 

"Eh, fine. Ron had calmed down by the time we got to the Welcoming Feast."

"He runs hot, doesn't he?" she asked, frowning. 

"You might say that, yeah. And he didn't think much of me sharing a carriage with Slytherins." 

Draco showed up, a mostly-empty school bag over his shoulder. "Let's go!" 

"Right." Harry grinned at his protector. "Later, Mill." 

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Yes, _Harry_." 

 

"That was idiotic," Draco said, as they headed up the stairs. 

"Why? Better to do it now than later. I took them by surprise."

"Well, you won't next time! We need some safer way we can find each other." 

"If I'd just wanted your company, I could have caught you before you left dinner." 

"Oh, that was an excuse to walk into the Slytherin common room?"

"Well, I couldn't just say 'I'm here to see what you all do,' now, could I?"

Sighing, Draco rubbed his face. "Gryffindor." 

"But they didn't _do_ anything," Harry protested. "Nott wanted to, but I think most people were just shocked." 

"Millicent protected you." 

"Yeah, I noticed." Harry grinned. "Just like a Beater." 

"Ha! Yes." 

 


	14. Alternative Plans

 

"At the end of this year," Professor Snape declared. "You will take your N.E.W.T.s."

The entire class was silent. Harry thought they had probably all forgotten how intimidating Snape could be. _He_ certainly had, during July's almost friendly chats and private tutoring sessions. The Snape who had loitered against his bedroom wall was gone now, replaced by a looming, sneering, contemptuous bat that Harry had prematurely categorized as a figment of childhood trauma. 

"You are the best and most dedicated of your year--" He paused to sweep them all with a disdainful glare -- "which means far less than you think it does. The Potions N.E.W.T.s are rigorous and demanding examinations, and the prospects of many of you are abysmal. However, I will do my best to provide you with the opportunity to do well. The onus to _realize_ that opportunity is upon each of you. If you do not complete your readings, put thought and effort in your assignments, and concentrate meticulously upon your practical work, your chances remain ... abysmal. 

"Today, we begin work on elementary Healing Potions. You should all have read Chapters 1 and 2, and pages 58-65 of Chapter 3...."

One by one, students in the lesson began to breathe again. Draco's quill scratched lightly over a page in his notebook. He shifted his arm back in invitation for Harry to read.

_Another intimidating first day speech. I think this is his favorite part of teaching._

Harry nodded, but he didn't write anything back. Draco, as a Slytherin, could get away with that. He was a Gryffindor, and could lose points for his house.

 

After class, Draco lingered, waiting for Harry to finish his deliberately slow job of packing his equipment. Harry made subtle shooing motions with the hand behind his bag, and Draco frowned. 

"I'd wanted to talk," Draco said quietly.

"Meet me in the kitchens then."

"Why do you--"

Snape appeared at their side. Everyone else, it seemed, had left. "Are you unable to place your scales in your school bag, Potter?" 

"I wanted to talk to you about --"

"If you need special assistance, Potter, come to my office during my scheduled hours, as other students do. _I_ intend to go to lunch -- but _not_ until I have secured my classroom." 

"Right, sir. Thank you." Harry jammed the rest of his things in his bag and left the classroom, Draco on his heels. 

"I do rather like the idea of the kitchens," Draco said, gracious now that Harry's plans had been foiled. "Shall we take a picnic?" 

"I'd like that," Harry said blandly.

Draco shot him a challenging look, but didn't argue. Fifteen minutes later, they were outside the wall of the rose garden, too close to it to be seen from the castle windows, spreading out the loot from an over-laden basket. Harry wasn't surprised at the first word out of Draco's mouth.

"Snape?"

"What about him?"

"Don't pretend to be as stupid as he's claimed you are. What did you want to ask him?"

"I wanted to ask him about the Uncommon Room -- about what Dumbledore had told the staff." It wasn't a lie; that was something he wanted to ask.

"If it was that, I wouldn't have to leave."

"Look," Harry argued. "He tells me more when you're not around." 

"That was last year -- when he thought I was working for the D-- Voldemort." 

"Still." Harry sighed. "I know it doesn't make sense. Maybe it's -- I don't know -- image in front of a Slytherin student? In front of his spellson? But he does." He shrugged and reached for a sandwich. "What had you wanted to talk about?" 

"I don't half-believe you, you know." 

Harry stuck out his tongue. "Slytherin. Of course you don't." 

"Don't show that off unless you intend to use it." 

"Any time, love. You're the one holding out now, remember?"

Draco laughed, and the mood lightened. "It's for our own good." 

"Of course it is," Harry answered, rolling his eyes. 

"Well it is!" Draco leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. "Here's my idea. Last night, when you came down to Slytherin, I was thinking that we should make proximity detectors, so we can find each other."

"But I--"

Draco waved the objection away. "Yes, I understand that now. And your instincts may have been good -- you are the talk of the house, this morning, and it's not all bad. But it occurred to me that the same tool could be helpful for identifying the rooms below the bathroom."

"How so?"

"Well, the entire corridor isn't aligned. We know that -- if it was just a matter of counting doors, it would be easy. But we can estimate a general area. If we make a proximity detector and reproduce the notebooks -- finally -- then one of us can stand outside the bathroom door while the other walks around below, and the person next to the bathroom can tell the walker when they are closest."

"Like a game of 'button, button'."

"Pardon?"

"Warmer, warmer, warmer, cooler," Harry tried. 

"Ah, yes!" Draco sat back. "We call that 'seeker'."

Harry choked. "Perfect!" 

For a few minutes, they caught up on eating. Harry had started off thinking about where they would go to enchant the new notebooks, and how they would keep from having them confiscated. Having thought of a place to work, however, he found himself devising other uses for it. "About the Uncommon Room?" he said.

"Yes?"

"If Dumbledore doesn't come through, I want to make an unofficial one."

"Where? The Shrieking Shack is a bit out of the way."

"And too good to lose," Harry agreed. "But there are a couple of blocked secret passages. I've been checking them out, and the one on the fourth floor has a large, dry, flat area before you get to the caved-in part. We could expand that, and just bring people in on it individually."

"A 'by invitation only' Uncommon Room?"

"Well, if we just tell everyone, someone will rat." 

"True." Draco looked thoughtfully off into the distance. "I'll need to think about candidates."

"Not just people who agree with us." 

"No, of course not. But neutrals will need to be carefully selected."

"Tested, perhaps?" Harry suggested. "We could have invitations to some other place first."

"And see what they do?" 

"Right." 

Draco nodded. "That may be part of it." 

 

Their next lesson was Transfiguration, during which Harry and Draco sat together, but made it a point to behave exceptionally well. Ron and Hermione, two tables in front of them, talked more. Harry didn't want McGonagall to have any chance to criticize his behavior with Draco. He had even left Susara back in the dormitory, partially to make it easier not to whisper, and partially because he wasn't sure how dangerous Cursebreaking would be. He didn't suppose he and Draco could maintain this level of behavior for long, but a good start might make a difference in the professors' attitudes later. 

After Transfiguration, Hermione headed off to Arithmancy, and Harry and Draco started off to Cursebreaking. Ron was taking the class too, Harry knew, and it was strange to know he was behind them. Inside the room, he and Draco settled -- as always -- near the back. Ron paused in the aisle beside them and gave Harry a measuring look.

"Would you like to sit with us?" Draco offered suddenly, making Harry blink in confusion. "We can edge over." 

For a moment, Ron looked grateful, but that changed suddenly to a scowl. "No thanks, Malfoy. I'd rather sit with someone sane." With a dirty look at Harry, he walked up to the very front of the room and an empty seat next to Padma. 

Harry expected Draco to be furious, but he just leaned close. "You ask, next time. He was offended that it was me."

"Why ask?"

"Because we need him, which means he needs to stop thinking of me as a rival." 

Just then, the instructor dashed into the room. His brown hair was mussed, and his robes askew. He tugged them quickly into place and gave the class a quick smile. 

"Hullo, everyone! I'm Professor Hecksban, and I'll be teaching this class, as well as Defense Against the Dark Arts. My previous teaching experience is entirely seminars for professional curse-breakers, so let me know if I move too fast or use jargon that you don't know. Oh, and don't expect me to remember names right off." He grinned at Ron. "Except for you. You must be Bill's brother Ron, right?" 

"Um, yeah." 

"Brilliant. All right, let's go around the room. Tell me your name, whether you have any experience with cursed objects, and how comfortable you are with-- No, on second thought, just name and experience. Let's start with you." 

He pointed to a table in the back corner. The first student was a Hufflepuff, Susan Bones, who mentioned a few family curiosities. Justin Finch-Fletchley, next, confessed he had no experience at all. That brought matters to Draco. 

"Draco Malfoy," he drawled. "My father made quite a hobby of cursed objects, but I confess that I know next to nothing about _breaking_ curses." A few nervous giggles rose throughout the room, but Hecksban just nodded.

Harry, realizing he was next, shrugged. "Harry Potter," he said. "I've been at the wrong end of a few cursed objects." 

Ron outright laughed at that, the sound familiar, and a few others followed. Hecksban grinned and let the whispers die out before continuing on to a Ravenclaw that Harry didn't know. Beside him was Blaise Zabini, whom he had previously not noticed. 

When they had all introduced themselves, Hecksban cleared his throat. "All right. Let's go over a few scenarios. There are no right or wrong answers here -- or, well, there are, but you're not expected to know the difference yet. I just want to get an idea for your styles."

Hecksban opened a package of colored chalk. Doodling a little house on the board, he continued. "Okay, let's say you've been sent out to a cottage that everyone says is cursed." He added jagged green grass in a line under the yellow house. It was a typical child's representation, with a peaked roof, a centered door, and two windows. "You check out the front door, and don't find anything. You open it and check out the door jamb, and something seems odd, but you can't pin it down and aren't entirely sure it's malevolent. What do you do?" 

Zabini raised his hand. 

"Yes, Blaise?" 

"Make the same checks on a window."

"Oh, very good!" Hecksban outlined the door and windows in orange. "Let's say it's the same. Harry?" 

"Um, bring a friend to wait outside with his wand out, and walk in, staying alert." 

Draco's hand shot up.

"Draco?"

"Pull my _idiot_ boyfriend away from the door, summon the nearest small animal, and toss that through instead." 

Some of the sniggering that followed that was rather high-pitched. 

"But what if it needs to walk in to be affected?" the Ravenclaw objected. 

"Oh!" Ron exclaimed. "Then a friend could float you in." 

"How about Apparating?" Susan suggested. Everyone turned and looked at her. "Well, if the curse is on the doorway...."

"Clever," Hecksban acknowledged. "Justin?" 

 

 

After the lesson, Harry told Draco that he was going to walk up to Gryffindor with Ron. Draco, as he expected, approved of that, since he now saw a use for Ron. Once he was there, however, Harry ditched half of his books, replaced them with a small bag of gold, invited Susara to ride, and started back down to the dungeons and Snape's office. 

_"Master?"_ Susara hissed in his ear as they walked. _"Must I stay alone tomorrow?"_

_"Was it too long?"_ he asked guiltily. He'd been hoping for a few more days to reassure people. 

_"I miss your warmth."_

_"Is not your lamp warm enough?"_

She coiled uneasily down and up his arm. _"The lamp has adequate heat,"_ she said, confusion flowing from her. _"You are warm."_

The answer was sweeter than she could understand, and he immediately decided he would just have to be circumspect. 

_"You can come with me,"_ he promised. _"We cannot talk during lessons."_

_"I will be as still as pure gold,"_ she assured him, and he paused to run a finger down the warm gold of her scales. 

_"I am sure you will."_

 

There were young voices coming from Snape's office, so Harry waited around the corner for the students to leave. When he heard footsteps moving away, he peered around, and then walked to the open door. 

"Professor?"

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Shut the door." 

With a grin, Harry did that. When it was closed, and muted, he flopped down into a chair, and took the bag of gold out of his school bag. "Here," he said, tossing it Snape. "Thanks for the loan." 

Snape caught the bag neatly, and gave it an experimental bounce in the palm of his hand. "You're welcome," he said politely. "Knowing you, I believe I can count it later." The bag was swept into a drawer. "From the way you have made yourself comfortable, I suspect that is not your entire business." 

"No, not really." Harry shrugged. "There are a few things." 

"Then please start." 

"Well, first, I thought we didn't need to be secretive, this year." 

"It rather depends about what, doesn't it?" Snape asked. "Voldemort will not call me to account for not killing you. A number of people might still want to know what I have to talk to you about."

That made sense, actually. McGonagall, for example, might take it amiss if Harry were to be seen disappearing into Snape's workroom for long periods. In fact, hadn't Dumbledore warned Harry that seeking Snape's support would cost him others'? "All right. So you may still need to give me detention, now and then." 

Snape smiled evilly, showing his uneven teeth. "I rather expect I will have cause, as usual."

"Right, but if I want to talk--"

"You will misbehave? No. Seventh-year potions are not toys." 

A tightening of Susara's hold gave Harry an idea. "What about Susara?" 

"Pardon?"

"My snake -- the torclinde. If I wear her around my neck in your class, go ahead and overreact to something." 

"I never overreact," Snape lied baldly. "But yes -- an excellent signal. Those students who notice will likely assume I am angered by your presumption." 

"Okay," Harry said, nodding. 

"The next item?"

"Draco." 

"Ah. What about Draco?"

"Well, he knows that you took me to the seer, of course. If you're willing to consult with me on divinatory potions, may I let him know?" 

"I cannot obtain proscribed ingredients for you."

Harry waved that away. "Sorted." 

There was a flash of something in Snape's eyes -- approval? interest? -- but his voice was bland. "I will consult on theory, discreetly." 

"Equipment? Space?"

"Let me consider how it might be done." 

"Okay." Harry shifted uneasily. "Er, last spring, Draco and I discussed something with the headmaster."

"Something," Snape repeated with amusement. "Might you be more specific?" 

"Mixed-house social space." 

"A frightening thought."

"He said he'd discussed it with the staff." 

Snape's brow tightened into bands. "Discussed, no. It was mentioned and laughed off, as I recall." 

"So, he's not really doing it." 

Snape waved the matter aside. "This is Albus Dumbledore we are talking about. I would make no assumptions. He often approaches things with levity." 

"All right. Will you let me know if it's mentioned again?" 

"Certainly. Anything else?"

"Well, in general, I wanted to ask you about Talbot and Death Eater status--"

Snape cut him off. "Adequate treatment of that subject would require a lengthy discussion. Some other day, yes, but not during my office hours. I can only leave the door closed for so long."

"Fine. Should I go?" 

"No." Snape's voice was suddenly harsh. "Tell me, rather, what you were thinking when you _walked into_ the SLYTHERIN common room?"

"Uh." Harry wet his lips. "Um, I wanted to see what they'd do." 

"What _who_ would do?"

"The Slytherins. The ones who don't know me. If they'd attack or watch. If it would make me more real. If it would make me less of an enemy." 

"Ah." Steepling his hands, Snape sat back. "So this was a deliberate risk?"

"Yes." 

Harry waited to see how that would be received. Slowly, Snape nodded. "It was not _entirely_ moronic, then. And it may make you less of an enemy to those who formerly had no opinion." 

Harry nodded. "I'll do it again, I think, but I'll be careful about when, and who's there."

"I suggest bribes, also," Snape nodded. "Unopened sweets, or other indulgences." 

"I may have a few things that will do." 

"I am unsurprised," Snape said dryly, coming to his feet. "Go then. And leave the door open." 

"Yes, sir." 

The Slytherin first-year girl from the night before was waiting in the hallway. Harry gave her a smile as he waved her in. 

 

 

Draco still had the copper mirror from last year, and the magical ink for charging the notebook was not difficult. They started it that evening, in the collapsed tunnel behind the mirror on the fourth floor, and by Saturday afternoon, they had a new _Liber Geminus_. 

"We'll need to be more circumspect this year," Draco confided, as they headed up the stairs. "I suggest we don't use them in Transfiguration at all, and probably not in Potions, either. Charms should be safe, if we're not disruptive." 

Harry nodded. "Defense and Cursebreaking, too. I get the feeling Professor Hecksban won't mind that sort of thing." 

"Less distracting than passing notes, really." Draco agreed. "Ah. Here we are." He gave Harry a friendly nudge. "Your floor. I'll go up to the bathroom door." 

Harry set off down the corridor. At first, it went in the same direction as the one on the floor above, but then it ended in a T. He turned left, and then right, and then entered some sort of storage room. There, he stopped and took out his book. 

_How's this?_ he wrote. 

_You could be closer. Move a few steps in some direction, and I'll tell you what changes._

Harry went to the far corner of the room. 

_Warmer. Can you go mor_

The writing stopped. _Draco?_ Harry queried. There was no response. Someone must have come down the hallway, he decided. Draco had hid the book. He would just wait here. 

After a few minutes, he began to worry. Nothing too horrible should happen in that corridor -- well, barring odd monsters loose in the school -- but what if Nott had drummed up some support and gone looking for Draco? He decided to head back to the stairs, but he kept the book out, just in case Draco wrote to him again, and shared his attention between the page in front of him and the corridor ahead. 

Before he saw writing in the book, he saw Draco. He was leaning against the wall, just around the corner from the stairs, and pulling out his quill. 

Curious, Harry looked at the page. 

_Had to leave. Meet m_

Not waiting for the rest, Harry hurried forward. "How about here?" he asked. Draco jumped, splotching the page. 

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

"I decided to go looking for you, in case you were in danger."

Draco scowled. "Only of exploding from frustration. This won't work." 

"Why not?"

After a quick glance around the corner, Draco pulled his quill back out again. 

_We shouldn't talk about it here._ "Shall we go get some chocolate?" he asked aloud.

Harry had to puzzle that out for a moment -- the passage to Honeydukes. "Good idea," he answered.

When they were safely in the hidden space, Draco cast a privacy spell. 

"It was Dumbledore," he said. "I hadn't been at the door a minute before he showed up. He has to be watching the place, somehow." 

Harry grimaced. "Damn." 

"Yes. Interfering old coot."

"We'll need to use the Shrieking Shack."

"That's far more dangerous." 

"Not to mention a nuisance. It takes half an hour to get there." 

They looked around at the cramped space around them and both decided it wouldn't do. Harry could see it when he met Draco's eyes. 

"Too small."

"We don't need to share the one on the fourth floor--" 

Draco shook his head. "The fumes might leak out into the corridor." He frowned. "I wonder if there's a place we could send your snake through."

"I won't send Susara into the walls! What if she gets lost?"

"Well, maybe we could send a phantom through the wall," Draco said. "I expect Myrtle is terrified of-- Oh!" 

"What?"

" _Ghosts_ can go through walls. And floors. Moaning Myrtle could tell us what's below her bathroom." 

"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed. "Except...."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

Harry scowled. "Neither of us can cast Control Spirit on her. We've both done it once, remember?" 

Draco stared at him in surprise for a moment, and then rolled his eyes. "True," he said, "but there are other methods." 

"Oh?" Harry asked, interested. If there was a second spell that would enable them to control ghosts, he could--

"We could _ask,_ " Draco snapped. 

Harry bit his lip at the obvious reprimand. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought of that, he just didn't think it would work. "After last year, I doubt she'll--"

"She loves attention; you know that. She may not tell us outright, but we should be able to get enough information, given a little time. Now come on!" 

"Where are we going?" 

"The Prefect's Bathroom. There probably won't be anyone there this early, and with any luck, she'll be taunting the mermaid."

 

Draco entered the room first, and then, after confirming that no one else was there, opened the door for Harry. 

"No Moaning Myrtle," Harry pointed out. 

"True, but she likes to watch," Draco said loftily. "Sometimes she notices when you run the water." 

He turned on a tap, releasing steamy water and the scent of jasmine. For a few minutes, they just sat on the bench, watching the water fall and the steam rise. Harry wished they could take their clothes off and slide in. 

"We should come here some time," he whispered, his hand inching closer to Draco. "Really late at night." 

A familiar giggle came from the drain in the floor. Harry jerked back. Moaning Myrtle shot out of the drain in a silver blur. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed in dismay. "You have your clothes on!" 

"Yes, actually--" 

"We were looking for you," Draco interrupted, beaming at the ghost as if she were his best friend. 

"Don't make fun!" she answered, stamping her foot even as her eyes brimmed with silver tears.

"We were!" Harry said hastily. "I wanted to apologize, er, for my behavior last year."

"Oh!" she cooed, as if he'd handed her a dozen roses. She swooped closer. "You don't have to worry. I _understand_." 

"You do?" He couldn't see how she could. 

Myrtle giggled. "Well...." she said suggestively, and Harry tried not to shudder. "Harry!" she said sweetly. "You know I hear _all_ the school gossip. You should have told me you were _safe_ , and then I wouldn't have been so forward. I'm not _mean_ , you know, not like _some_ people."

"Er, safe?" Harry asked. He couldn't imagine when he'd been safe. 

"Bent," Draco clarified. "You know -- not about to take advantage of an innocent young woman." 

"Oh!" Harry blushed. He had a brief impulse to protest that he was bi, but if thinking he was gay would stop Myrtle from throwing herself at him, he could live with it. "I don't think I've ever heard, um, that one. Maybe Muggles don't use it now." 

"Mm." Myrtle still looked alarmingly and ineptly coquettish as she leaned her head to the side. "Is it true that the two of you are _boyfriends_?" 

For a moment, they looked at each other. Then Draco reached over and took Harry's hand. "Yeah," Harry said. 

She squealed. "I want to see you kiss. A _real_ kiss, not a peck." 

"Well...." 

"Hush," Draco ordered. He turned to Myrtle. "If we kiss for you, do you promise to tell us what room is directly below the second floor girls' bathroom, and what is directly below that?"

She nodded. "Uh-huh." 

"In a useful manner that we can understand," he warned.

"Well." She pushed up her glasses. "How can _I_ tell what you'll understand?"

"If we find what we want," Harry said, "we'll kiss for you again."

"Ooo!" She giggled. "With your shirts off?"

"We wouldn't want to get caught," Draco said smoothly. "However, I'm willing to add touching." 

"Below the waist?"

Draco scowled. " _Above_ the waist." 

"Hmph." She pouted. "Are you _really_ homosexual?"

"Yes," Draco answered sharply. "However, I am _not_ an exhibitionist." 

Harry grinned. "I think that's the best you'll get out of him," he told her. "Malfoy pride, you know." 

"Oh, all right." She sat on the edge of the tub. "So. Kiss." 

"Promise first." 

"I promise, yes. I'll tell you what rooms are directly below my bathroom." 

Hesitantly, Harry leaned forward. He needed to not think about Myrtle, he told himself, as his lips touched Draco's. He needed to think about something else. Sliding into that tub, perhaps, late at night, with the drains blocked to ghosts. Draco's arms came up around him, interrupting the thought, and suddenly he didn't need to imagine anything. Draco's mouth was soft and warm, his lips pressing just as Harry liked, his cheek not yet scratchy, but not quite as smooth as a girl's. Harry played the tip of his tongue along the line of slightly parted lips, and they opened further, inviting. He moaned into the kiss....

Someone squealed. Harry's eyes went from barely closed to squeezed shut. With a warning brush of contact, Draco lifted his head, and Harry opened his eyes. 

"Oh," Myrtle said. She fanned her face with one hand. "You look _so_ sexy together! You'll do more next time?"

"A little more," Draco said firmly.

"I want five minutes."

"Agreed. If you give us enough information for us to find what we want, we'll kiss for you for five minutes, next time."

"Okay. Well," she simpered, "there are two rooms under my bathroom, one under most of it, and the other under just the end of the sinks."

Harry nodded. That made sense. The passage would drop down between them. 

"I don't know what either is called, but one is full of odds and ends of old furniture. I've only been in there for a moment, because it doesn't have any plumbing, but I appeared in a disconnected bath there once, when I was startled. A terrible bath -- it was lined with seashells, and horribly uncomfortable to even _think_ of sitting in! It's all things that no one wants, I think -- cobra candelabras, and crocheted pink and green antimacassars, and a folding bed carved to look like crocodile jaws."

"Lovely," Draco said dryly. "And the other room?" 

"A caretaker's room," she said. "I'd call it a cupboard, but it does have a sink -- a plain, deep one, that always smells of dirty floors." 

Harry grinned and got to his feet. "Great. Thanks, Myrtle. You've been a big help." 

"Will you come to my bathroom?" she asked. "No one comes there now." 

"It's been put off limits," Harry explained. "By Dumbledore." 

"We'll meet you here," Draco said, "in a week's time." 

"Ooo!" With a little shiver of delight, she looped up into the air and down again. "In a week, then!" In a quivering flash, she was gone down the drain. 


	15. Return to the Chamber of Secrets

 

Harry had wanted to start right in on looking for the room after dinner, but Draco pointed out that they had spent all day with each other, and probably both had housemates to placate. "Besides," he said, "I need to get _some_ work done. I have another five inches to write for my Ancient Runes essay. I suggest tomorrow morning, before breakfast. No one else should be about then." 

That, Harry decided, as he heard a distant meow, had not accounted for the strange schedules of cats. Draco met his eyes. There was a door up ahead -- perhaps even the one that they were looking for -- and they hurried to it and checked inside. It was the storeroom, cluttered with hideous junk, just as Myrtle had described. They stepped in, Harry cast a freshening spell down the corridor, and they closed the door. 

"Harry, if you don't mind my asking...."

"Removing our scent. To a creature that's used to wizards, it should seem like we took a portkey." 

"Oh." Draco looked a bit put out. "Good thought," he said, without much enthusiasm. 

Harry grinned. "Thanks, but not mine. It's something Snape taught me." 

"Why would Severus wish you to evade Mrs. Norris?" 

"We were discussing Nagini, actually." 

"Ah. That makes more sense." Draco perked up a little. "Now that I think of it, that may explain your claim that he tells you more when I'm not present."

"Oh?"

"Well, he fears what I will do with it, of course." 

"Do?" 

"You're expected to use such things against the Dark Lord." 

"Oh, right. That could be it." _Not,_ Harry added to himself, _that Snape is under any delusions that I don't evade school rules as well._

They spent a minute just looking at the room. It was dimly lit by a single high window on the far wall. Harry spotted the bath Moaning Myrtle had mentioned, and the folding bed, which was near the wall to their left. He pointed. "Along that wall, do you think?" 

Draco frowned. "It depends on whether the cupboard is the next thing down this corridor, or along another corridor. Get out your notebook, and I'll go and find it." 

"You're volunteering to risk Filch?" 

"I," said Draco grandly, "am Head Boy." 

Harry sighed. "Right." 

 

The cupboard turned out to be along a perpendicular corridor, but still backed up against the left wall. _Warmer_ , Draco wrote, as Harry started towards the back of the room. As Draco used the proximity spell to detect any change in his distance, Harry worked his way along the wall, stepping around random things on the floor. The worst was a mummified kappa in a candle-holder cage, but there was also a lectern of piled skulls -- the top two of them human-looking -- and a bronze chandelier in the shape of intertwined cobras, hoods raised and glass eyes glittering. Next to that, oddly, was a child's table shaped like a big, sparkly pink daisy. He was just past the crocodile-head folding bed when Draco wrote _cooler_. Harry stepped back. _That's it_ , Draco confirmed, and Harry touched the wall. Draco was right here. The chute could be right here. Or, he realized, the chute could be to one side or the other of the cupboard, in the corner made by the cupboard and room. 

Draco returned, and they began their investigations. Draco used a hole-cutting charm that they had found the previous night. A section of wall about an inch and a half in diameter came out in an even cylinder, but it was nearly a foot thick. They couldn't see anything through the hole. 

"Lumos?" Harry said doubtfully.

"The wand will just block more. Besides, will yours reach? Mine won't." 

Harry drew his doubtfully and laid it against the cylinder. "About the same length," he said. "I couldn't really keep a grip on it if I put it far enough in." 

Draco snorted. "And you have a long one," he commented, which made Harry smirk. 

"That? Haven't you seen Ron's?" He held a hand several inches past the tip of his own wand, making Draco snigger. 

"Never looked in that detail," he said. "Not that I want him poking it in our business," he added. 

Harry looked at the hole again, his expression sobering. "Susara could look." 

"I thought you weren't willing to send her into the walls?" 

"Well, not to, you know, explore. But this would just be looking with me here." 

Susara had begun to move sleepily at the mention of her name, and now she spiraled down his arm and slipped her head out the sleeve. _"Master?"_

_"Hello, beautiful. Would you do me a favor?"_

_"Of course,"_ she answered, but he could feel a little uncertainty behind it. He raised his hand to the hole so she could see. 

_"We have formed this hole, but the wall is so thick that we cannot see through it. Could you go until you can just see out the other side, and tell me what is there?"_

With a wordless feeling of consent, she slithered into the hole until just the tip of her tail -- curved to one side -- showed. 

_"Is there space?"_ he asked. 

_"It is dark."_

_"Hold still. I will make light."_ Carefully, he slid his wand in above her, as far as he safely could, and then cast a mild, focused Lumos. Her tail-tip flicked. 

_"Some space,"_ she said. _"Would you like me to go further?"_

_"No. I want to know if there is enough space for me."_

A wave of constrained motion came down her body. _"There is a large metal basin. If you made the hole in another place, there is space in this room."_

Harry sighed. _"Okay. Come back."_ As she coiled around his wrist, he turned to Draco and shrugged. "This goes straight to the cupboard, apparently, behind the sink. The chute must be to one side or the other." 

Draco sighed. "Well, I suppose we can't expect to get it on the first try." 

Suddenly, his head snapped to the side, and in a sudden move, he pushed Harry against the wall, just by the crocodile bed.

"Wha--" 

"Shh!" Draco's hand covered Harry's mouth, and Harry realized he must have heard something. That was disappointing; there were better reasons, Harry thought, to be in this position. After several seconds of nothing happening, Draco began to relax. Harry stretched his tongue out and dragged the tip of it against Draco's palm. With a strangled sound, Draco stepped back. "My mistake," he said coolly, his expression haughty. Harry, who could recognize that as discomfiture, tried to repress a smile. 

"So," he said, to cover for it, "which way along the wall?" 

Draco looked back and forth, and finally pointed to the bed. "Behind that," he said. "It would be the most convenient, anyway." 

"To hide a door?"

"Yes, exactly." 

"It doesn't look like anyone comes in here," Harry pointed out. "The further we get from the door, the dustier everything is." 

"Which is why we want a place not visible from the door." 

They slid the cylinder back in the wall and rejoined it with a repair charm, and moved further down. There was room for only one of them behind the bed. 

"Let's move it a few inches further out," Harry suggested. "That shouldn't be obvious from the door."

"Is there room?" Draco looked doubtfully around the bed. 

"Sure. We just need to shift this chandelier--" Harry reached over. As his hand closed on one of the wrought brass cobras that formed the chandelier, it softened in his grasp. Then it hissed. 

"Shit!" 

_"Petrificus!"_

_"Stop!"_ Harry tried, in Parseltongue, as Draco's target clanged to the floor. The snakes had all unraveled from their ornate knot, and were advancing menacingly. They paused at his command, raised heads wavering uncertainly side to side, but then slowly began to descend. The fastest one resumed its approach. Harry glanced at Draco, who jerked his head to the side. Understanding, Harry began to back into the center of the room, while Draco retreated along the wall. That caused a little more head waving, and they both got off another Petrifaction hex. The problem was, there were a lot of cobras, and their uncertainty lasted only a moment. Each serpent -- darkened bronze with streaks of verdigris -- slipped across the floor towards one or the other of them. Seeing one aimed for him twining through two snakes headed towards Draco, Harry tried a Corrosion hex. 

As he had hoped, the three snakes stuck together. Their untangled parts still moved, if jerkily, producing a horrible clanging as they banged together. The tangle slowed the advance of another snake behind the mess, but cost Harry the time to cast a Muffling charm. He risked a desperate look at Draco, who was standing on the pink daisy table, his wand raised, while at least four snakes wove around it, trying to get high enough to strike him over the wooden petals. That was all that Harry had time to see before he had to fall back and petrify another snake that was after him. 

No sooner had the petrified snake fallen than it rose in the air, a frozen squiggle. Harry ducked its tail and watched open-mouthed as it joined back into the chandelier construct with most of the others. His three corroded ones couldn't detangle and shape properly, but Draco cast another two spells, and soon they were back where they belonged. Carefully, Draco levitated the chandelier a little back from its original location, and just as carefully, Harry levitated the crocodile jaw bed a foot back, to where he had wanted it. They looked at each other. 

They were too far apart to speak without being audible from the corridor. By silent agreement, they met back by the wall. 

"We will need to redistribute the dust," Draco remarked. His eyes widened as he continued. "D-U-S-T, dust." 

Harry choked back a laugh. 

"Prat!" Draco snapped. "P-R-A-T, prat." 

Harry bit his lip to restrain a snigger. It was only funny if they could stop it. "Try a sentence," he suggested. 

Draco glared at him. After a moment, he raised his head. "The fucking table is fucking cursed. C-U-R-S-E-D, cursed. Ouch. O-U-C-H, ouch."

"Ouch?" Harry asked. "Oh, never mind." 

Draco pulled out their notebook. _My tongue hurts when I swear_ , he wrote.

Harry couldn't hold back the laugh. "Sorry," he gasped. "Curses for tots, damn!" 

_Fix it_ , Draco wrote, and glowered.

"How?" Harry asked. "I mean, I'd love to, but I haven't the faintest idea what to do. Madam Pomfrey--"

Draco shook his head. _She might recognize the curse,_ he wrote. 

"Point." Harry could not seem to stop his mouth from twitching. "It is rather memorable." 

_There must be something that stops it._

"Saying you're sorry?" Harry suggested. "Oh -- what happens if you _try_ to spell something?" 

 Draco frowned. He straightened, standing as if he were presenting something in a lesson. "C-H-A-R-M," he said, and then his mouth opened again. His lips twitched and twisted, and he grabbed on to Harry's arm. "NO!" he shouted, then shuddered, and then relaxed. "I think...." He paused, waiting, his breath coming hard. "I think that did it."

"Great," Harry said, "Now let's hope no one heard you. I didn't bring my cloak."

Draco caught Harry's hand and pulled him behind the bed. "Don't touch it," he warned at a whisper. 

"You're thinking that everything in this room is cursed?"

"Yes. I gather you've reached the same conclusion?" 

Harry nodded. "It seems likely. How did you stop the snakes?"

" _Reparo_." 

"That's it?"

Draco looked smug. "It took me a moment to think of, but yes. Repaired, they were again a chandelier." 

"That's clever!" 

For a minute, they were silent. Harry watched Draco -- his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes dark in the dim light, his smile sharing a secret accomplishment -- and wondered what would happen if he leaned forward, inviting a kiss. Just as he was about to try, Draco turned away. 

"We're safe, I think. Someone would have come in by now -- or at least run by in the hallway -- if anyone had heard. Let's get back to it." 

They made a new hole in wall behind the folded bed. This time Susara said Harry might fit, if he got in sideways.

_"Do you mean on my stomach?"_ he asked. 

_"No."_ She had come back out and now her tail trembled in frustration. _"It is not as big as one of your doorways. It goes down between the walls like the down-hole to the den you used last year, but it is narrower, and with no slope."_

"The--" Harry figured out what she meant. _"That is what we are looking for. The down-hole."_

Her upper body drew back. For a moment, she hissed. _"Silly master! You should tell me what you need! It is there."_ She turned her head and stretched it out towards Draco. _"Put me down, and I will show you."_

Embarrassed, he put her on the floor. She slithered through the dust, past Draco, and to the very edge of the bed. There she reared up, and flicked her tongue out at the wall. _"Here,"_ she said. _"Or a little further."_

_"How can you tell?"_

_"It still smells of the great snake,"_ she said matter-of-factly, _"and of you, and of your mate. And I saw the slant of it from below, in the last place."_

_"Thank you,"_ he said, and turned to Draco. "One more test hole. She thinks she knows where it is." __

She was right. At the next hole, she told them that she was at the edge of the chute. Harry punched the air, and Draco sagged back against the wall in relief. 

"Brilliant!" Harry said. 

"And now for a door," Draco said, his eyes closing. "I have the notes on two spells. We should do a second review bef--"

Harry pinned him against the wall and kissed him. Draco's eyes flew open. "Mmph--!" 

Harry decided that if Draco really minded, he would make it clear, and he concentrated on Draco's warm mouth and firm body against his own. For at least a minute, the only sounds were the soft whispers of skin on skin and fabric on fabric, and increasingly loud breathing. 

Then Draco reached out and grasped Harry's arm, stopping him. "Harry." His eyes were promisingly unfocused, but he closed them and took a deep breath. "We _cannot_ get caught here. We should always be in this room as briefly as possible." 

That made an irritating amount of sense. Harry drew back with a scowl. "Let's get to it, then." 

 

After debating the two spells, they settled on the one that would make a section of the wall temporarily intangible -- though still visible -- at an assigned word or phrase. After they had discussed several possibilities and discarded them as being either too obvious or favoring one of them too much, Harry suggested "bats", and Draco agreed. That made "snitch" (or rather, Draco corrected, "snitches") the obvious counter-incantation. 

That done, they opened the passage down to the chamber. 

It was, after everything, that simple. Draco pointed his wand, zigzagged it back and forth, and said a two-word incantation, and then met Harry's eyes. 

"Bats," they said in unison. 

The wall looked just the same. Of course, it was supposed to. Harry reached a hand out to it. His fingers disappeared into the stone. 

"How does it feel?" Draco asked. 

"Cold. No, cool. Like mist, not like a ghost." 

He brought his hand out and looked at it. It was fine. Shrugging, he put his head through. He couldn't see anything. _Of course I can't!_ he chided himself, pushing back alarm. _It's dark._ He cast Lumos. It was the chute, slanting steeply down from the left, their vine ladder still lying against the rock wall. At a tug on his ankle, he pulled back through the wall.

"Well?" Draco demanded. 

"We're here. It's one of the more slanted sections. Our ladder's still there, by the way."

Draco covered a smile with a sniff. "I wouldn't trust it, at this point. We should Vanish it and cast a new one. That will keep us from climbing too high, as well."

"Good point. Shall we go?" 

Harry vanished the ladder. Before he could cast a new one, Draco had done it. "Not as severe a change of energies," he explained. "It wouldn't matter if we were just using it for a day or two, but...."

Harry nodded. He hadn't heard that before, but it made sense.

Draco looked hesitantly into the gloom. "Perhaps you should go first," he said. "Coming in not through the official entrance might trigger something, and--"

"And you'd rather I faced it?"

"And I expect it will require a Parselmouth, like the other tests." 

Harry frowned. "Isn't it sort of risky, relying on the same trick for all the entrances?" 

"It's a very rare talent." Draco hesitated. "And there was the basilisk."

"I suppose." Harry couldn't help thinking that was yet another Parselmouth trick. He might be able to sway a basilisk now. "I suspect he just didn't know much yet. He was only sixteen." 

 

Draco turned out to be right. They descended the ladder unmolested, but as soon as Harry set foot on the corridor, there was a creaking of stone, and a large, black snake slithered out of either wall. 

_"Who comes?"_ they hissed, in stereo chorus, each staying to its side. 

Harry thought quickly. Claiming to be Tom might trip him up -- he was reluctant to lie at all -- but he had better sound like he belonged here. _"The heir to the Chamber of Secrets."_

They hissed and writhed and tested the air with flickering tongues, but slowly settled. _"You did not use the door."_

_"It is watched. I made another."_

They relaxed further, coming together so he might have taken them with one blow. Harry settled himself, trying to project confidence. _"I no longer need your services,"_ he said firmly. 

_"Are we released?"_ The question was eager enough to give Harry second thoughts. Still, he did not want them. __

_"You are released."_

They hissed with harsh pleasure, coiled about each other ... and crumpled under the contact. As Harry stepped forward, the last withered remains fell into dust. He froze. 

"Harry?" Draco's voice wavered. Harry couldn't blame him. "What did you do?" 

"I ... I said they were released." 

"Merlin and Morgana." Draco shuddered, but stepped forward. "I'm so glad I didn't join that madman." 

"Yeah. Me too." 

 

The rest of the walk was uneventful, and they met nothing larger than non-magical spiders. Still, Harry felt a thrill of fear when he commanded the great door to open. Draco, apparently similarly nervous, held his wand forward, and lit the torches as soon as there was enough of a crack to point through. Flames flared to life, showing still water and grand stone, but amidst the vast space, a green and orange plastic sofa, shaggy throw cushions, a stone coffee table, and two folded blankets. Scattered rubbish littered the ground beside the sofa and the surface of the table: crumpled parchment, empty bottles and sweet wrappers, and a broken quill or two. 

Harry grinned. Draco sniggered. 

"We left rather a mess, didn't we?" 

"Yeah," Harry admitted as they stepped in. "It didn't occur to me to clean up, for some reason." 

"Or to me," Draco pointed out, with a shrug. "The perils of doing without House Elf service." He looked around critically. "Collect the empty bottles," he said, "and I'll show you something Severus taught me." 

Harry grinned. "That's what you want to do first?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He turned and sealed the door behind him. "Here?" he asked, leaning against it. "Together?"

Draco sucked on his lower lip. Harry licked his upper one. "How about showing me how good you are at transfiguration?" he suggested huskily. "Maybe that sofa would make a nice bed."

Turning his face to the side didn't stop Draco from keeping his eyes on Harry. "I have something better," he said suggestively.

"Oh?" 

"Yes." Draco reached into his pocket. "I've been exploring this summer," he said. "And practicing size changes." From his pocket, he pulled what looked like a dollhouse version of a Hogwarts bed -- a four poster with blue curtains. "I hope you don't mind Ravenclaw colors -- it had the best mattress of the surplus ones. Where should we put it?" 

"You expect me to make design decisions when you're holding a _bed_?" 

"Well, it's not good to shrink and expand something too many times." 

"All right. Past the next pillar?"

"As if it's another room?"

"Yeah, I guess." 

Draco smirked over his shoulder as he turned away. "Are we playing happy families, then?"

"Mm." Harry caught Draco around the waist as he straightened from putting the bed down. "This is the part where the children are busy somewhere else." 

With a bright laugh, Draco stretched back to give him a kiss. "Very busy," he agreed. "Let me just...." With a quick spiral of his wand, he cast an expansion spell, and the bed wavered and whooshed out to its full size. 

"Brilliant," Harry said. When he reached out a hand to Draco, he could feel that he was trembling. Twining his fingers through Draco's helped. He had to swallow before he could speak again. "Shall we?"

He led Draco to the bed as if they were walking on eggshells. Draco sat down and tugged his hand, so Harry sat, half-facing him. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, and then both of them laughed tensely. 

"Circe!" Draco's face was pink. "This is worse than the first time." 

Harry nodded. "Well, we'd been sitting and kissing for a while, then, right?"

"Right," Draco said decisively. He toed off his shoes and scooted back against the headboard. "Come on, then. Let's kiss and not worry about it." 

Harry tried to crawl up to join him, but his school robes got in the way. He pulled them off as casually as he could, and in trousers and a jumper, joined Draco at the top of the bed. 

"Very nice," Draco said, running a hand covetously over his shoulders.

"The jumper?" Harry teased.

"No, the jumper is horrid."

Harry kissed him. 

Draco's lips were soft, but moved hard against his own. Harry pulled him closer as they went on. This, at least, was familiar to the point of safety. He had to pull back a moment, afraid of laughing in Draco's mouth. 

"What?"

"I was just remembering...." He had to think how to phrase this so Draco would understand he wasn't reluctant to do more. "The first time we kissed, it felt so dangerous. And now it doesn't." 

"Good," Draco said fiercely, drawing him back. 

Kissing was good, but very soon, it wasn't enough. Harry worked a hand between them to undo Draco's robes, and Draco immediately responded by sliding his hands up under Harry's jumper. Unease fell away in a surge of lust, and having opened Draco's robes, Harry went straight for the front of his trousers, and when he couldn't get them open, started working his hand under the waistband. 

"Harry--"

"Want you."

"Let me...." Draco's trousers were apparently held closed with hooks, which he undid with two practiced pinches of fabric. Harry immediately pulled them down to Draco's knees. He was distracted by the sight of Draco's hard cock and traced his finger up it, feeling his heart speed up as it twitched under his touch. An uneven pitching of Draco's hips turned out to be Draco kicking trousers and pants off the rest of the way. 

"Yours now," Draco insisted, reaching ineffectively. He pouted. "It isn't fair if I'm the only one undressed. I can't even reach your trousers."

"All right." Harry moved back off the bed and stood to push the offending garment down. He was very aware of how his body displayed his eagerness, with his erection parting the placket of his shirt under the hem of the jumper. "Better?"

After a shaky exhalation, Draco lifted his chin and pretended he hadn't been staring. "Yes. Now come back here." 

Harry crawled back onto the bed, but only as far as he'd been before. He nudged Draco's legs apart to kneel between them, and returned to staring openly. 

"Want to touch you."

"Go ahead."

Other sounds became loud in the absence of words: Harry's breathing, long with control, and Draco's, growing quicker and higher; the whisper of skin on skin; the unmistakable squelch of wetter contact. Harry wondered if Draco's prick would make as vulgar a sound pumping in and out of a girl, in the properly romantic breeding union. 

"Harry," Draco implored, stopping all thought but the need to please him more. Harry adored him desperately through his cock, picking up the rhythm of his breathing and moving his mouth to match. Draco's cries grew in response, until Harry could hear him on the edge. He pushed his hands up Draco's sides and grabbed his nipples, squeezing tight, and Draco cried out, arched up, and flooded his mouth. 

Harry stilled his motion, only then realizing that he had been rutting against the mattress as he worked. He moved his mouth off Draco's cock slowly, trailing his tongue up it as he withdrew. Shakily, Draco tugged at his arms, urging him up. 

"Here. Wann' touch."

It was immensely satisfying to have broken Draco's diction. Harry grinned as he crawled up to lie beside Draco. There wasn't much room on the bed for two, but they didn't need any space between them. 

"Good," he said quickly. "Want you to touch me." Draco hesitated, so Harry caught his hand and moved it to his own hard prick.

"Just that?" Draco asked, pulling up and then shifting down again. 

"Yeah." It took Harry a moment to find the breath for more. "Do that."

"As you wish." Draco wrapped a leg over Harry's, pulling their lower bodies closer together. "You look so hot with my cock in your mouth. Like that, don't you?"

Harry moaned and started sucking on Draco's neck, which he supposed was response enough. Draco had a sexy voice, when he was in that mode. 

"Love the feel of your cock," Draco continued, as a satisfied whisper. "Love getting a grip around this, long and hard in my hand, and knowing I did that; you're like that for me; you're like that from taking me in your mouth. Love the way your control dissolves, and you thrust and moan...."

He didn't get to say more, because Harry's control went to nothing at that. He grabbed Draco's arse and pulled him tight in to a motion he couldn't stop until he came, roaring, and everything slowed to a blissful overload. He dissolved down, still tangled with his lover. 

For a moment, they just breathed. 

Draco shifted to a slightly more comfortable cuddle and Harry moved to accommodate him.

"Mm," Draco commented. 

"Happy?"

"Exceedingly." 

"Me too." Harry squeezed him briefly. "If anyone had told me, last September, that the place I would feel safest was in this room, I would have thought they were raving." He kissed the most accessible part of Draco, which was somewhere near his shoulder. "And if they'd said in Draco Malfoy's arms...."

Draco's breath went pleasantly shaky at that. "Then?"

"Oh, protests that nothing but the foulest of Dark Arts....." Harry kissed again, a suddenly tightened muscle. "And it's something so simple as love," he whispered, and Draco melted against him. 

"Harry." 

"I love you."

"I love you too." Draco rolled towards him. "I'm so glad to be back here."

"Our place."

"Yes." Draco sighed. "But we'll have to bring others, this year, I suppose."

"We'll find somewhere else," Harry promised recklessly. 

"No. If Weasley's going to do divination for you, for example, this is the only place I'd trust." 

Harry sighed. "Can we blindfold him for the entrance?" 

"I find that idea _entirely_ agreeable." Draco frowned. "If we're going to discuss this, might we get out of bed?" 

"We don't need to discuss it." 

Sitting up, Draco shook his head. "No. We ought to. Let's get dressed and collect the rubbish, and then we can sit properly and strategize." 

"If you insist," Harry answered, rolling his eyes, but he realized Draco was probably right.

Draco walked about incinerating bits of paper, and Harry collected empty bottles -- one cognac, a large number of butterbeer, and to his surprise, one of orange fizz. _When did I bring that in?_ Draco dumped out their rubbish, which had another two cognac bottles and perhaps a dozen of butterbeer. "Those too," he said, as he magically separated the burnable items out from plastic. "Put all the clear ones on the table."

Curious now, Harry did as he was instructed. Draco came over to sit on the sofa. "Hm," he said. "That's quite a lot of glass. Let's see...." 

Drawing his wand, he began to rotate it next to the bottles, which rose, spun, and melted together into a liquid blob. At a word from Draco, the blob stabilized in the air, and he used his wand to draw out a smaller ball of it. He lengthened that to a rod and expanded one end into a bubble, slowly pushing the space down. When he was finished, he had a glass mug that he settled on the table.

"Not crystal," he said smugly, "but not transfigured. It will be perfectly stable, even under a Reversion hex." 

"That's brilliant!" 

Draco flushed with pride. He made four clear glass mugs and a glass ewer, and then swirled the rest of the clear glass in with the brown and green to make four plates and a number of floating candle holders which he levitated over to the reflecting pool. 

"You have plans to entertain?" Harry asked pointedly, and Draco lifted his nose into the air. 

"One should always be prepared for company." 

"Huhn." Absently, Harry reached under the table and pulled out a bottle. "Shall we--"

"Where did _that_ come from?" 

"Um." Harry blinked. "The usual place?" he tried.

"But...." Draco stared at the bottle. "How is there cognac here? We didn't leave the grounds after Easter, and we haven't been--"

Harry shrugged. "Not until the day of the Leaving Feast. What did you think I'd got drunk on?"

Draco's stare lifted and bored into him. "You went to the Muggle village? _Alone?_ During the day?"

"Well, yeah." 

"You IDIOT!"

"I was very careful, Draco. I used a disillusionment spell, _and_ kept the cloak on--"

"So you stole that?"

"I left money."

"Why not do it in Hogsmeade, then?"

"I'd be much more likely to get caught--"

"But less likely to get _killed_!" 

"Draco," Harry said soothingly. "It was months ago. I lived." 

"Merlin!" 

Harry lifted the bottle slightly. "Would you like some? It's not as good as usual, but it's not bad."

"Promise me you won't be that careless again." 

Harry snorted. " _I_ wouldn't even believe that!" 

Draco's eyes narrowed. "To be more specific," he said clearly, "if you are going to leave the Hogwarts grounds, talk to me first." 

Harry bit his lip. "If you can afford to be involved, okay. I'd rather. But that one _had_ to be mine." 

After a long, audible breath, Draco responded. "Because it wasn't your house that would benefit."

"Yes."

"That wouldn't matter to mine." 

"Well it mattered to mine a great deal." Harry looked away. Carefully, he poured two small portions. "And I believe it mattered to the Hufflepuffs, as well. The ones that were civil to me last year are still." He extended a glass to Draco. "Drink?" 

"Wait," Draco said, even as he took the glass. "Don't drink any yet." 

"It wasn't poisoned, Draco. I sealed the room when we left."

"I know! Just ... we should have a toast. For the year."

"Oh!" Harry sat straighter. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. 

"Here," he said finally. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "To our first year of adulthood and our last year of protection; to working and playing together; to victory."

Meeting his eyes, Harry smiled. Draco made a toast like he was casting a spell. "To us," he said simply, his glass meeting Draco's, and they both took a ritual sip of the amber liquid. 

Draco's face scrunched up a little when he swallowed. "I'd forgotten," he said.

Harry laughed. "Snape didn't let you drink as much as your parents did?"

"Wine, often, but nothing distilled." Draco frowned. "And it's nowhere near as good." 

Harry nodded apologetically. "It's the only time I bought something _just_ to get drunk. I couldn't bring myself to get the cheapest thing available, but I also didn't want to drop what could be a week's rent on something I was going to waste a third of."

"We'll need to get something better in Hogsmeade."

"Oh, I have a lot of better stuff in my trunk; I'll bring some of it down." 

Draco covered his face with one hand. "A lot of...."

"Not-- Just-- Look, some is for us, and some is for gifts, okay? I was out in Muggle London under Polyjuice, and I went shopping."

Draco studied him. "I ... I don't mean to sound fussy," he apologized, "But I do want to know -- how much did you drink this summer?"

Harry frowned. "Just once, really. When I came home with this stuff, Fred and George were freaked out, so I gave them a bottle and we all had some. That's all. Nothing like before Easter." 

"All right." 

"Before Easter was because you _pushed_ me, you know." 

"I'm frighteningly aware of that. But in the steeple...."

"It wasn't that much either." 

"Good, then." Draco took another sip. "Yes, you should bring something better down -- but I did mean it about finding more constructive things to do with at least _some_ of our time, this year." 

"Well, we have a list, don't we? Divination, war strategy, winning over our respective houses...."

Draco made a face. " _You_ might have better luck with mine." 

"Oh?" 

"Well, it's not bad, really," Draco demurred. "The house is split, though."

"Over you?"

Draco gave him a look. "Over the Dark Lord, Potter. I'm just a symptom."

Harry grinned. "Ten minutes out of bed, and I'm 'Potter' again," he lamented. 

"Only because you're being dense." 

"So Slytherin is all either anti or pro-Voldemort?

Draco shrugged. "The upper years, at least." He thought. "Well, no. Pro or neutral, mostly. I can only think of a few who are genuinely opposed to him. Of course, Millicent seems to be firmly pro-you -- I'm just not convinced she's noticed the corollary. Her family is neutral." With a sigh, Draco turned slightly away from Harry, but only to settle back against him. "Do you know what's up with Hermione? She's ignoring me." 

"Oh." Harry wondered how to explain.

"You're not surprised." 

"No. Well, disappointed, maybe. Have you really tried speaking to her?"

"When we first got back. I said 'good morning' and she nodded and said it back like someone was holding a wand to her throat." 

"You may have to try a few times." 

"Why? We were friends in June. I haven't done anything since then." Draco's voice grew sharp. "Did she expect letters?" 

"No, it's-- She gets the _Prophet_ at her parents' house--"

"And?" 

"They read some of it. About the trial. And she had to say yeah, that was me, and I'd been in a lot of trouble, and yeah, you were the boy she'd talked about before...."

"Why would she talk about me?"

"Because you called her names? Because you wished awful things on her?"

"Oh." Draco went pink. " _That_ before." 

"Right. So you may need to remind her you actually have changed. She may have convinced herself that you were just using her, last spring." 

"Well, I was using her," Draco pointed out, "but not _just_. I mean, I became fond of her during it." 

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm having trouble with her too." 

"Hm. Maybe I should bring her to see the Quiris." Draco shot Harry a challenging look. "You too." 

"I'd expected that earlier." 

Draco nodded. "I couldn't. It was too disturbing for them when everyone returned."

"Yeah?"

Horsyr said they were like this with even small groups of wizards, at first. They get used to the energies -- She's managing to take Keeba and her daughter through city neighborhoods, now."

"Interesting. So do they become less sensitive to Dark Arts?"

"At a distance, yes, they learn to ignore some of the residue. But she doesn't think the time aspect changes." 

Harry nodded. That was interesting, but not useful. He sipped his drink. Draco sighed, and leaned back, relaxing against him again. 

"All right," he said. "Special projects. Do we have time?" 

"Bleh. It depends how seriously I take Hermione's study schedule." 

"Hm. Perhaps we should ask her advice on projects. It might kill two birds with one stone. "

"Then she's with us." 

"Yes, but we can be alone here. And if we do a project with McGonagall, that might be three birds. I'm sure she'd soften a bit if she saw me working with Hermione." 

"True, but a project with Snape -- without her -- might give us time to consult with him without it being questioned."

Draco waved the thought off. "You forget, he's my spellfather. We can go to his rooms." 

"Professor McGonagall won't approve if I start visiting there." 

"Ah." Draco tilted his head. "Hm. Can we do one with each? Perhaps the one with Severus could be largely fictitious." 

"He won't allow that."

"Oh, all right. Conceded. But he would agree to something easy, if he understood the purpose." 

"Maybe." Harry laughed at his own doubt. "I suppose you'd know better than I would. We shouldn't meet more than once a week, I think." 

"If that. Very well. Let's both think about it and discuss it again on Tuesday." 

"Tuesday?" 

"I had thought every other day, again?" 

"All right. But it will have to be after my Quidditch practice, so we'll miss dinner." 

"I'll bring food," Draco said promptly. "Next item -- Weasley. When?"

Harry groaned. "Give me at least a week or two." 

"Your relationship is still tenuous?"

"Yeah. Better than last June, but ... shaky." Harry smiled wryly. "At least they've changed the damn match rotation. Gryffindor's up against Ravenclaw first. Worst case, I should be fine with him after that."

"Early October?"

"Yeah." Harry wrapped an arm around Draco's chest and pulled him close. "But I mean that about 'worst case.' I really think a week or two should do it, if I don't do anything he hates." 

"We'll need at least that to complete research on the first potions, and I suspect at least a weekend to make them." 

"Oh, right -- what do you have for that?" 

 

They discussed the divination potions until Draco noticed that it was time for lunch, and then raced upstairs, pausing only as needed -- for Harry to seal the chamber behind them, and once for Draco to set a monitoring charm in front of their new entrance to the passage and close it, and for Harry to blow the dust around to hide their tracks. They walked into the Great Hall late and together.

 


	16. Reaching Out

 

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked, as Harry squeezed in beside her. Seamus edged over to give him more room. "You've been gone all morning!"

Harry shrugged, and reached for a ham sandwich. He had forgotten it _was_ morning. He supposed he associated the Chamber with late nights. "Out with Draco," he said. _Hell. I had half a glass of cognac for breakfast. No wonder it was making me queasy. That must have been a couple of hours ago, now, though. No one should be able to tell._

"All night?" Seamus suggested. "Your bed was already empty at dawn."

"Why were you looking in my bed at dawn?" Harry asked indignantly.

"I just noticed, that's all. Had to use the loo." 

"I must have just left," Harry countered quickly, scooping up some mustard. "We'd been meaning to go to breakfast; we just forgot." 

"Distracted by your pretty boy?"

" _Yes_ , if you must know." 

"More to the point," Hermione interrupted. "Why were you up at dawn?" Her expression gentled. "Couldn't you sleep?"

That was, Harry supposed, his usual reason for getting up early. He smiled at her. "Nah. We wanted to explore, and we decided Filch wouldn't be skulking around that early." He yawned. "Though now it feels like evening, and I haven't done any schoolwork."

"That's all right," Ron said. "I haven't started mine, either. Of course, I just got up." 

"Yeah," Harry agreed, slumping. 

"Until he came down, I assumed you were sleeping in," Hermione added. 

"She was all set to mount a hunt," Ron said cheerfully, taking an egg mayonnaise sandwich from a platter. "But I said this was the most likely place to find you."

"Though I was starting to worry," Hermione said reproachfully. 

Ron laughed. "Don't believe her, mate. She's been worried for an hour." 

"Sorry," Harry said.

"You missed announcements, you know. Next Saturday is blocked for Quidditch tryouts. You need to settle our slot with Hooch."

Harry nodded. Zoe and Damian were gone, leaving him with a Chaser spot and a Beater spot to fill. 

"Are you trying out?" Neville, who had kept his head down during the interrogation, asked the question innocently. Ron tensed. 

"I'm not that great a Chaser," he said. He glanced down the table, to where his sister was talking with one of her friends, and Harry could see him evaluating his chances and finding them lacking. "Probably not."

"Oh." Neville blushed. "Well, you look brilliant to me, but I don't know, I suppose." Seemingly aware that he was digging himself in deeper, he made an uncharacteristic grab for an orange, and busied himself with peeling it.

 

Harry managed to catch most of his teammates as they were leaving lunch. From the way that Jason's attention stayed on Lindsey, even while he answered Harry's question about schedules, Harry thought the younger boy might have taken a fancy to her. She didn't seem to mind, but Harry resolved to keep an eye on the matter. It wouldn't do to have it interfere with their relationship in the air. It wasn't until he was looking around for Ryan that Harry realized Ron had slipped away. Hermione was still lingering by the door. Harry waved her on and went back to his search. 

 

"Hi," Harry said, slipping onto the end of the sofa nearest Ron's chair. His friend was staring at a Charms text, but didn't appear to be reading it. From the facing chair, Hermione watched anxiously. Ron responded with a neutral grunt. 

"Look, about tryouts...."

Angrily, Ron looked up. "Drop it, Harry," he said sharply. "I know my limits. I'm not the best you've got. Ginny's been faster on her broom for at least a year. I'll just have to settle for being the second Weasley not to make the house team." He grimaced down at his book. "Me and Percy. Ugh." 

"But I wanted to tell you," Harry said urgently, "Cornelia wants the Beater slot. Keeper's position is open now." 

Ron looked up, astonishment wide on his face. "Keeper?" Slowly, he began to smile. "I might have a shot at that." 

"Right." Harry cleared his throat. "Someone could do better at trials, of course. I mean, I need to choose the candidate who's best for the team. But you should get in some practice." 

"Right." Ron closed his book with a snap, tossing it to the table as he surged to his feet. Harry saw Hermione wince and hold her mouth shut tight. Ron didn't notice; he was calling for Ginny as he crossed the room. With a grin, Harry patted the cushion beside him, and Hermione scooped up her schoolbag and came over to join him on the sofa. 

"He should study," she said faintly, ducking her head.

"True," Harry allowed, watching Ron's animated explanation to his sister, over by the windows, "but he wasn't, really."

"It will take up so much time." 

"Hush. He'll be fine."

"He doesn't do nearly as well as he could!"

"He does well enough," Harry soothed. "If you wanted ambitious, you're looking in the wrong house." 

She laughed at that, and settled. Ginny and Ron had parted quickly, in good cheer. Harry suspected they were off to get hats and gloves. 

"Did you want ambitious?" she asked.

"Not really, but it seems to be what I've got." He thought about Millicent. "Though there seem to be all sorts of ambition."

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

Harry waved nebulously at the air. He would need to keep this vague. "Just ... I know a few more of the Slytherins, now. What they want isn't always so simple as money or power."

"Recognition?" she guessed. 

"Or independence. Or...." he shrugged. "Other things like that." 

"Abstractions."

"Sometimes." 

She sighed. "I don't really like you spending time with Slytherins, Harry. I can't forget that one of those abstractions is pureblood dominance." 

He shrugged again, trying to keep his shoulders loose. "Well, there's no danger I'll be spending too much time with that sort of Slytherin. I'm not really their type, if you'll recall." 

Her mouth tightened. "Draco was that sort. I'm not sure he still isn't, under other ambitions." 

Harry snorted. "He could find a pureblood lover, I'm sure. No, Draco was already questioning that when we became friends. If he hadn't been, it wouldn't have lasted long." He shifted to face her. "He misses you, by the way. He asked me why you were snubbing him." 

"I am not snubbing him!" 

"He feels like you are." Harry bit his lip. "You have to be careful with Slytherins. Sometimes they're too subtle -- too used to subtle. They interpret things."

Hermione sat back with a huff, but she looked like she was thinking. 

"Keep it in mind, anyway." 

"Oh, all right." She sighed. "You really should start your schoolwork, Harry." 

"I suppose." He would rather have followed the Weasleys out to the pitch and watched them practice. "Keep my place; I need to get my books." 

 

Harry was on his way to Tuesday's practice when he spotted Rob, Sammy, and Jeremy over by the windows playing Exploding Snap. He detoured over to the game. 

"Harry!" Jeremy exclaimed, seeing him approach. Rob waved a hello, and Sammy looked nervously at the Firebolt resting against Harry's shoulder. 

"Hi," Harry said. "Want to come watch a Quidditch practice? We'll talk for a while, since it's the first one, but I plan to start with a little warm-up." He grinned at Sammy. "You can see some good flying." 

Rob was already scrambling to his feet. "Could we?" he asked excitedly, apparently unable to believe his good fortune.

"Of course. Go and get cloaks, now; it will get chilly." 

Rob dashed off, with Jeremy close behind. Sammy stood more slowly. "Rob showed me some magazines," he advanced.

"All right." Harry leaned back against an upholstered chair so he didn't have to look down so far. "Are you interested in the real thing?"

Sammy chewed on his lower lip. Harry wondered if he still thought this was all some elaborate joke. Eventually, the boy shrugged. "I guess I'll take a look," he said. 

"Great. Cloak, now."

With a last look at the broom, Sammy nodded and left for his dormitory.

 

The three boys maintained their moods for the walk down: Sammy cautious and distant, Jeremy moderately pleased, and Rob bouncing with excitement -- except for occasional puzzled looks back at Sammy. From outside the stands, Harry could hear other players, but no one was high enough to be visible over the walls. He led the kids up to the seats. Being the tallest, and in front, he was the first to come in sight of the players -- Jason and Lindsey were in the air, and Cornelia on the ground, pinwheeling her arms in a warm-up exercise. As the boys emerged into the open air, Harry looked back at Sammy. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open, and he came to the present moment in an instant. 

"Wow!" He darted forward to the rail, leaning out to watch. "That's brilliant!" 

"I _showed_ you my magazines," Rob said reproachfully. Harry laughed. 

"Muggles have lots of ways to create pictures of things that aren't real," he explained. "It's not like wizards. _We_ just change what's real and then photograph it."

Sammy's head whipped around, and after a second, he gave Harry a tentative smile. "Was it like this for you?" 

Harry nodded. "Yeah, mostly. Except I was really ready to believe it."

"Oh." Shoulders tightening, Sammy looked away. 

Harry joined him at the rail. "No offense intended. Just ... is there someone who usually lies to you?"

The shoulders came down a little as Sammy nodded. "M'brothers." 

"That's too bad," Harry said sympathetically.

"And everyone believes _them_ ," Sammy continued indignantly. "Just because I said I'd got Wolverine down from the tree."

"Wolverine?" Harry asked. 

"A kitten. And I _did_ get him down." 

"Ah." Harry nodded. "Yeah. I remember how far I got trying to explain that I had _no idea_ how I'd ended up on the shed roof." 

"But wouldn't they--" Rob stopped. His eyes widened. "Oh. Muggles." 

"Right. I think it happens to a lot of kids with Muggle families." Harry shook off the thought and the memories that came with it. The Dursleys had hated him before any of that. "Anyway, you can all watch from here for as long as you like, and you can go back to the castle when you're bored. No going into the changing rooms, though, and no stepping out onto the pitch, got it?"

"Yes, _sir_!" Rob chirped, and Jeremy and Sammy both nodded. Harry mounted his broom and kicked off from the spot, hopping the rail and joining his teammates in the air. The boys cheered. 

 

Afterwards, while everyone else was at dinner, he told Draco about it. 

"First years?" Draco asked dubiously. He had brought down roast beef, sliced thick and set between hearty slices of bread, and for after, covered bowls of apple pudding. Harry opened his sandwich and spooned some horseradish onto his beef. 

"Look," he said, "I'm fine with the seventh years, because they know me, and the sixth-year girls -- two of the five are on the team, and a third is Ginny, so that's okay. And at least two of the sixth-year boys think I'm okay. But the younger kids are a little wary of me. If I start with the first years, they have the least bias. They didn't go through all the fighting and distrust and such of last year, or the rumors that I was crazy the year before that, or Cedric dying with only my word on how the year before that." The last still hurt to mention. Harry had to stop to steady his breath. He took a bite of his sandwich. 

"True, but they're not very useful." 

Swallowing, Harry shook his head. "It makes me look more dependable, I think." 

"Not like you're corrupting them?" 

"No one seems anxious," Harry countered. "Amused, maybe. Parvati claims I'm trying to look taller." 

Draco laughed. "Tell her Seekers are supposed to be compact."

"She wasn't serious! So, how have your efforts been going?" 

Draco shrugged and took a moment to chew and swallow. "Linnet is definitely interested in speaking to you about current events, but she's never been a real partisan. Blaise came to me privately to say that he intended to stay neutral as long as possible, but that he no longer discounted your potential in the upcoming conflict."

"Upcoming?" Harry repeated incredulously. "Wasn't he _here_ last spring?" 

Draco dismissed the criticism with a graceful wave of his hand. "My housemates tend to think of that imbroglio as a family matter that overflowed. Typical Malfoy extravagance."

Harry decided not to ask what _imbroglio_ meant. He expected it didn't usually include people dying and buildings being destroyed. "I spoke to Hermione."

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "And?"

"I think a project with her would be worthwhile. You two need to spend some time together." 

Exhaling sharply, Draco nodded. "I've been wondering.... Might she think we're using her for cover?"

Harry frowned. "I hope not. Maybe." 

"Well, then. Perhaps we should arrange things with Professor McGonagall first, and _then_ invite Hermione."

Harry considered that. He didn't think Hermione mattered much to their chances. "Okay." 

"That would be my preference. Also, I spoke to Severus, and he responded positively to the idea of a simple project for the purpose of maintaining discreet contact, but he would like to consult with you privately first. He will keep you after Potions on Thursday or Friday." 

Harry nodded. "Got it." 

Accordingly, they stayed after their Transfiguration lesson the next day. They had a free period before Cursebreaking, but Professor McGonagall did not; Harry knew the sixth-year students would be arriving soon. The professor frowned slightly as the two of them approached her desk. 

"May I help you gentlemen?" 

Draco shifted back, leaving Harry to answer. He supposed Draco might find the Gryffindor head of house intimidating. 

"We were wondering," he said, "about possibly doing a special project."

She frowned. "It is your N.E.W.T. year, Mr. Potter, and you are already taking a full schedule. Your energies might be better spent in revision." 

He nodded. "Yes, but I don't think this will be too intensive. We were both interested in learning more about transfiguration of form only." 

Her face lengthened as her eyebrows came up. "Shaping? It is a minor branch of study -- hardly of any use beyond art." 

Harry felt his face heat, but it was as much with indignation as with embarrassment. He didn't want her putting down Draco like that, even if she didn't intend to. He was sure Draco must be humiliated. "It's useful often enough that we both end up doing it," he retorted.

"Do you really?" She looked intrigued. "For what, if I may ask?"

Stepping forward, Draco pulled one of the candle-holders out of his bag. "Things like this," he said. 

McGonagall nodded. "Ah," she said, nodding. "Yes, art." 

Draco raised his chin haughtily, and Harry intervened. "I don't think the table is art. Show her, Draco." 

After a momentary look of confusion, Draco nodded and drew his wand. With slow, angled stokes, he pulled stone from the wall, shaping a small shelf with an ornamented wedge of supporting stone below it. Harry looked over at McGonagall, and saw her jaw drop. When the shelf was finished, Draco set the candleholder on it and stepped back.

McGonagall straightened. "Well!" she said. She cleared her throat. "Yes, I see. Shaping stone is quite difficult. You do seem to have a talent for that, Mr. Malfoy." She glanced at Harry. "And you?" 

He shrugged. "I'm not particularly good at it. I made him a brooch, once, but that was out of gold." 

The corner of her mouth quirked, and then settled. "Yes. Soft metals are much easier to work." Her piercing gaze fixed him to the spot. "If it is _his_ talent, Mr. Potter, why do you wish to do it?"

"I just think it's cool," Harry answered baldly. "And we want to do something together."

"Ah." She steepled her hands for a moment. "Well," she said, inclining her head. "If what you want is to do something together, I have a suggestion that should suit nicely, but stretch you both a bit more." Afraid she was going to tell them to go do their homework, Harry managed only a slight nod, but she smiled thinly and continued. 

"You may have seen me working with Professor Dumbledore during the rebuilding last spring. Combining forces for Transfiguration is a difficult matter ... but easier if the people involved have an affinity for each other. Rather than attempting to imitate Mr. Malfoy's talent, then, I suggest you balance it. _He_ can work on changing the form of your base material, while you change some other aspect. For example, he might spin broken glass into a window, and as he forms it, you color segments of it. Or he might make a screen of wood, and you turn some panels of it to glass. If you wish to do shaping as well, there is the shaping of two things around each other, which is how some of the highest quality tools are made."

Harry and Draco looked at each other. "That sounds brilliant, actually," Harry said, even though he knew they could not include Hermione. 

Draco's nod was hesitant, but his smile unmistakable. "Yes," he said. "Entirely." 

McGonagall nodded briskly. "We have other things to discuss, such as scheduling and workload, but I have a class arriving. Devise a more detailed proposal, please, including a schedule that will not hamper your other activities, and bring it to me during my regular office hours." 

Harry nodded readily. "Right. We will." 

 

They spent their free time until Cursebreaking discussing possibilities, trying to dream up a project that was difficult enough, but not too time consuming. They both liked the stained glass idea, but Harry wondered if they could do something as elaborate as a display case with stained glass doors. After a tangent on the design of wooden hinges, they speculated about whether this sort of combined spell casting would make other kinds -- perhaps in combat -- easier. Draco said the principle was probably the same, and Harry nodded thoughtfully. That might explain why Professor McGonagall wanted him to learn it. 

 

"Do you have plans?" Draco asked, as they left the room after Cursebreaking. Harry looked up the stairs to the bobbing spot of red hair that showed Ron taking the stairs two at a time. 

"I might go out to the pitch." 

"Ah." Draco sighed. "It's the library for me, I'm afraid -- at least until practice." 

Harry was about to say that he would join him when he spotted someone else -- a flight down, Millicent Bulstrode was just turning on to the stairs. 

"Well, catch you later, then," he said, and set off after Millicent. 

 

He tried to catch up to her discreetly, but she was taller, and moving with an open stride, and two flights down, he was barely closer to her than he had been.

"Mill!" he called, as she crossed in front of the doors to the Great Hall. " _Millicent!_ " Millicent turned. 

"Whatever--" 

"You move _fast,_ " he complained, hurrying up to her.

"Oh. Uh, I was in a hurry...."

"Is this a bad time?"

"Nah." She shook her head. "I was moving away, more than toward. What's up, Potter?" 

"I just thought we should talk," he said casually. This clearly wasn't the place. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were passing by, and some of both scoping out the encounter in passing. Harry wondered if Millicent had used his last name out of habit or to establish distance. "Come for a walk with me?" he suggested.

In another context, that could have been flirtatious, he realized belatedly, as Millicent smirked, but did not laugh. 

"All right," she said, resettling her bag on her shoulder. "Let's go." 

With a nod, he set off down the corridor, to the back staircase up to the classrooms. As it was less convenient to the main staircase down from the ground floor, it was not in heavy use. The greatest risk there was that they would disturb a couple snogging in the shadows, but it was still too public for discussing potions. Harry racked his brain for something he could say. 

"So," he advanced finally, as they started up the stairs. "Thank you for your protection the other night." 

She snorted. "I wasn't sure you'd noticed." 

"Oh, I knew the risk I was taking. I was keeping a close eye on who was where." 

"Really?" Her heavy eyebrows rose as she looked sidelong at him. "You did a good job of looking like it was nothing." 

He shrugged. "If I look nervous, what's the point?"

"What was the point without?"

"Seeing who did what. Seeing if I might risk it again." 

She frowned, slowing as they climbed. A rustle of noise at the first landing was what Harry had expected. He didn't look, but had the impression Finch-Fletchley had been one of the pair. "Again," she said plainly, "why?"

"Ah." He hadn't thought of her question that way. The answer to this one had been honed by Hermione's challenge on the train. "Because I think I need to spend time with the Slytherins -- well, with anyone who might consider supporting Voldemort, but doesn't entirely yet. I need to show people who are wavering that his opposition isn't everything they're afraid it is." 

She considered that. They were passing the third floor now. The sound of distant chatter bounced down the corridor to them, fading as they continued up. Harry motioned to the side as they neared the fourth floor. "This way." 

There was no one in sight, but she still walked close enough to him to speak quietly. "That might be worth the trouble. You're certainly not what I expected. Still, it's a dangerous place for you."

"I know that," he said, turning the corner into a narrower corridor. Two figures twenty feet away, even expected, disturbed him, and Millicent jumped. 

"Oh," she said, staring at the shadowy forms and lifting an arm experimentally, "a mirror." Her mouth twisted into a scowl. Harry shrugged and led her between two doors to side rooms, and straight up to the glass. 

"What's this for?" she asked suspiciously, but Harry already had his wand out. He tapped the glass, and reached through it to a door latch. 

"Come on," he said. 

 

Safely behind the re-solidified glass, she cast wand light to examine the space they had entered. With a grin, Harry set his wand to a barely visible line at waist height on the passage wall, activating a phosphorescent glow that stretched down the corridor on that side. 

"Brilliant," Millicent breathed. "Where does it go?"

"Oh, there's a cave-in further on," Harry said, starting down the passage, "but a good wide area before you get there."

"Is this the place for brewing?"

"No, I'm afraid the fumes might be noticeable. I have another spot for that." Around a curve, the glow faltered. Harry reached forward to tap past the gap, and another section came on. That light circled two-thirds of the way around a wide space. The low illumination made tumbled rocks seem larger, and turned the collapsed section beyond into a rising wall of spiked shadows. "No, I want this for the Uncommon Room -- for mixed-house social space. I was hoping you might help me clean it." 

"You're going to tell everyone about it?" she asked scornfully. 

"Well, not everyone," he replied. "Just people I trust not to tell." 

She crossed her arms over her chest. "And when will we start my brewing? Did you buy what you said you would or not?"

"Of course!" he replied indignantly. "Well, except for the mountain crab shell. We might not have everything to start this weekend, but we definitely will for the next."

"Where are you going to get a pound of mountain crab shell in a week?" she snarled. 

"Fred and George! I'm telling them I'm starting a dueling club!" 

She pulled her head back like a startled cat. "Oh." 

"That will make sense, right? I mean, if it's a secret, we'll need regular healing potions, so I can order from them regularly. And they have a business, so they can buy large quantities of things. And they'll approve." 

Her good humor restored, she snorted with amusement. "Gryffindors." 

"Right," he said stonily. "So you can _trust_ me, right? I'm not about to go back on my word." 

"Did I offend you?"

"Yes." 

She studied him for a moment. "Oh. Well, sorry, then." Uncomfortably, she looked around the space. "So we should pick up the rocks?"

"And stabilize the fall," he responded, going along with the change of subject. "And then we can worry about cleaning, and I'll probably get Draco to try to help me fix the line that doesn't glow anymore." 

"There's another one?" she asked, stepping over to the wall.

"Yeah. It should be both sides of the passage, and then they each loop through this section, so there should be more than twice as much light here." 

She examined the glowing stripe on the wall, running one thick finger along the unlit grey line below it, and then glanced to where the light arched over what had been the other door. "I see." She shrugged. "Well, I'm no Merlin with charms, but I can move rocks." With a grin, she picked up a head-sized stone and hefted it in one hand. 

"Wait!" 

His warning was too late. She'd hurled the rock neatly into the rubble, where it hit with a thunderous crash, knocking loose several other stones which rumbled down to the floor.

They were both silent as the echoes died away. Some dust drifted down from the space above, but nothing more fell. Harry cleared his throat. "Maybe we should, um, stabilize the fall first?"

"And not throw them," she said glumly. "Got it." 

"Well, that might be okay if I cast a cushioning charm where they'll land."

She perked up. "It would certainly be more fun." 

 

In the end, Harry ended up casting a cushioning charm next to the pile, and a silencing charm on the room. Millicent tossed stones on the cushioned spot, and Harry levitated them out, one at a time, to chink into the pile. He felt like there ought to be something like Draco's glass spell for melting rock so he could bind them together. He should ask McGonagall, he decided, and then Flitwick, if she didn't know. Or maybe Draco could just do it.

"Harry," Millicent said, in between rocks. 

"Yeah?" 

"Where _are_ you thinking of for brewing? 

"Oh, there's another passage--" 

"Deeper?"

"It goes all the way to Hogsmeade, and comes up in a house." 

Her already small eyes narrowed. "An empty house?"

"Well, one that's supposed to be haunted. But it isn't, I promise." 

She turned from the rocks and folded her arms over her chest. "Tell me you don't mean the Shrieking Shack." 

"Lupin stayed there as a student," Harry said quickly. "On full moons. That's why there used to be noises." 

She frowned. "There've been noises more recently." 

"Other people have stayed there since," Harry said. "But live people, I swear. And Draco and Hermione and I spent a couple days brewing there last year. There's nothing worse than spiders -- normal spiders -- in that house." 

She raised her head. "All right. But I'm bringing my bat." 

 

They left at dinner time, talking about Quidditch. Harry had forgotten that was strange until they got to the ground floor. Most people were already in the Great Hall, but as he and Millicent came down the last few steps, a gaggle of young Slytherins came tearing up from the dungeons. Among them was the blond first-year girl, who stumbled to a stop as she saw Millicent and Harry. Millicent rolled her eyes. 

"Maybe we'd better split up here, Potter. Wouldn't want to turn your house against you again." 

He sighed. "They'll get over it. But go in with your lot, if you'd rather." 

With a nod, she swaggered over towards the younger kids, who turned and hurried ahead of her into the Great Hall. Harry strolled after. When the blond girl looked back over her shoulder, he winked at her. 

 

 

After dinner, the Gryffindors returned en masse to their common room. Harry spent a while with Ron and Hermione, chatted for a few minutes with Seamus and Parvati, said hello to Rob, Sammy, and Yolanda, and then headed up to his room. Neville was there, but studying quietly on his bed. After greeting him, Harry collected parchment and ink, and settled at the desk. 

_Fred and George,_

_How are you doing? I'm settling in to school. The Cursebreaking professor is brilliant, and knows Bill. I think Ron enjoyed being the person recognized, for once._

_You know how I said I might want to order things? Well, I'd like you to send me a few items. First, I need two ounces of fluxweed (don't ask!), a pound of powdered mountain crab shell, and an ounce of murtlap essence. I know those quantities sound ridiculous, but a few of us are starting a sort of an unofficial dueling club. If we're not going to get caught, we need our own customized healing potions. I also need a runespoor egg, or a runespoor dreamer head as part of that project we discussed before._

_I hope business is going well! Send me a few harmless things, and I'll show them around._

_Cheers,_

_Harry_

Afterwards, he sat, stroking his quill idly against his mouth and wondering what to say to Remus. Could he even call him that? Maybe "Mr. Lupin" would be better. He set quill to parchment, but then lifted it again. No. That was too formal. Just "Remus" seemed cheeky, though. "Uncle Remus"? No, definitely not. Sighing, he began the letter with "Dear Sir," regretting it immediately, but not enough to erase the words with a spell. 

 

_Dear Sir,_

_I am safely back at school, and enjoying having people around again. Ron got a little annoyed about me talking to a couple of the Slytherins on the train, but it seems to have blown over. I'm sure you will be glad to know that as Hermione is Head Girl and Draco is Head Boy, I am receiving frequent reminders to study._

_I was thinking about our first visit, this summer, and it occurred to me that I should warn you that your old retreat may no longer be secure, in case you didn't realize. Hermione and Draco and I brewed the portkey Anchor potion there, so its the place where he portkeyed back to, so a number of Death Eaters were there, at least one of whom is related to kids here._

_Tell your dog that I miss him, and I hope we can go for some long rambles in the summer._

_Best wishes,_

_Harry_

There, he thought, folding the letter carefully, and addressing it "Remus Lupin, Darkmoon Den". That would cover taking Millicent out there. Though now that he thought about it, the tunnel out of Greenhouse Four might be better, if it was reasonably spacious. The Shrieking Shack was a painful walk for him, and Millicent was a lot bigger than he was. 

 


	17. Keeping Promises

 

The rest of the week went well. McGonagall agreed to two one-hour meetings a week: an assignment and discussion between lessons and dinner on Tuesdays, and a practical lesson on Sunday before lunch. Ron and Ginny both made the team on their own merits. Harry had been certain Ginny would, but less sure about Ron. His friend seemed to have grown into those lanky limbs over the summer, and had a much better sense of where his hands and feet were than he had at the previous year's tryouts. 

"You know," he said to Harry, "in a way, it's good that you passed me over last year. This way, I know you really mean it." 

With a grin, Harry slapped him on the back. "I mean it, Ron. You were the best one out there. Now, training you up to Cornelia's level may take until spring...."

"Oh?" Ron asked uneasily. Harry snorted. 

"Relax, mate. It takes a couple of months with anyone."

 

Slytherin had their tryouts after lunch, so Harry spent an hour getting trounced by Ron at chess and claiming it was because he kept answering questions from the first years. 

"Do you have to let them hang around?" Ron grumbled, as the set finally left.

"I like them," Harry said. "And Sammy needs a wizard to explain things to him; Rob tries, but he doesn't understand what Sammy doesn't know. Besides, after this year it will all be adults, all the time, won't it?"

Ron sighed. "Until my brothers start breeding."

"Well, you have that, I suppose." Fortunately, Ron didn't seem to notice the longing that Harry heard in his own voice. Harry sighed and accepted checkmate with good grace. 

"Another?" Ron asked hopefully. 

"I only submit to this humiliation once per day," Harry responded with a smile. "Besides, I'm meeting Draco." 

"Oh," Ron said flatly. 

"Dean," Harry called. "Come over here and take my place, will you? Ron wants another match." 

 

Draco came into the Chamber of Secrets late and flushed. The fresh smell of autumn winds still clung to his hair.

"It went well?" Harry said, stepping back from their first embrace and sitting down again.

"Quite," Draco said, with a satisfied lift of his head. "Of course, all we had to fill was a Chaser position, but the competition was productively intense. And yours, my dearest rival?"

Harry smirked. "I chose impartially and have two new Weasleys." 

"It can't have been that impartial, then."

"No, really. I wouldn't take Ron last year." 

"He's improved?"

"Yes. And he was trying out for a different position."

"Hm." Draco moved the cover of Harry's book to read the title. "I can't see him as a Beater." 

"The senior members of the team moved around some." 

Draco looked up sharply at that. "By choice?" 

"Of course, by choice!" Harry answered, exasperated. "I wouldn't have made anyone change just to get Ron on the team!" 

Draco shrugged. "Well, I did suggest you flatter him." 

Harry sniffed. "And I gave that the consideration it deserved." 

Draco laughed. "All right. How is that Potions reading going?"

 

For a while, they studied, Draco helping Harry with Potions, and Harry helping Draco with Transfiguration. Eventually, however, Harry yawned and stretched. 

"I suppose we'd better go find Myrtle."

Draco froze. "Oh," he said. He cleared his throat. "I don't suppose we could skip it?" 

"Come on, now!" Harry chided. "We might need another favor from her later." He grinned. "Besides, I thought you didn't mind her looking." 

"I don't _mind_ ; it just seems vulgar, now that it comes to it. I'm not a dancing girl." Draco sighed. "I don't suppose you brought any of that cognac down?"

"Two bottles, actually," Harry said loftily. "One good, and one very, _very_ good. Want some?"

Draco considered a moment, and then sighed. "Not really. Let's come back here afterwards, though. I'll want to kiss you privately after kissing you in front of her." 

"Hm." Harry thought. "Yes." 

 

They left their things in the room, and emerged from their new entrance into the storeroom of cursed objects. Rather than head back towards the History of Magic classroom, and from there to the main staircase, they continued on past the side corridor and past empty rooms, to where Harry guessed they would find the spiral staircase at the back corner of the castle. He had never been there on this floor, but had on occasion taken it from the fifth floor to the third. He paused at the first of the narrow, deep windows, and looked out at a long, narrow finger of the lake. It seemed much larger and darker seen from here, only one floor up and in the shadow of the castle, than when he looked down on the glittering sunlit surface of it from the fifth floor. Behind the dark water, hills rose in muted purple and gold. 

"Not much of a view," Draco sniffed. 

About to argue, Harry realized that he was commenting on the narrow windows. "Yeah," he said. "These look like arrow slits that someone stuck glass in."

"Wand slits," Draco corrected. "And unlike many other windows, the glass in these has no protections against breakage." 

Harry considered that. "So we could still use them if attacked?" 

"Exactly." 

Harry looked at the narrow strip of window and then back at Draco. "How can you tell?" 

"Oh, I tried it, as soon as I'd learned the Repairing charm," Draco said. "As for how I knew to try, it's in _Hogwarts, a History_." 

Laughing, Harry shook his head. "You and Hermione! We have to get you talking again." 

"I would like that, yes." 

 

They continued on in silence to the fifth floor, where Draco opened the door to the Prefect's bathroom with an easily audible "Suds and buds." 

Harry snorted. "Who came up with that one?"

"Mercifully, I have no idea." 

They had no sooner stepped in and closed the door than Myrtle shot up out of the floor drain. "Oh good!" she said. "I thought you weren't going to show, and I'd have to hunt through the toilets to get back at you." 

Draco paled. Perhaps Myrtle had some idea how off-putting that was, because she immediately stepped back, clasping her hands and setting her head to the side. "Well, you _are_ late, you know! Or I thought that. But then I realized that we hadn't specified a time." 

"Oh. Well, we had Quidditch tryouts." 

"Ooo! Together?" She cocked her head again. "No, of course not. You're from different houses." 

"And the captains of our respective teams," Draco informed her, apparently tempted out of silence by the opportunity to tout his importance.

"My!" she exclaimed appreciatively. "Are you sure you won't take your shirts off?"

Harry laughed. "It doesn't do much for the upper body, you know. Not unless you're a Beater, and we're both Seekers." 

"And no," Draco added, "we won't." 

She giggled. "Did you find the rooms?" 

"Yes, both of them. Your instructions were adequate."

"So...?"

The suggestive slide of her voice was inescapably a demand. His face going blank, Draco turned, and Harry turned to face him, reaching a hand up to touch the tight muscle of his jaw. 

"Hey," he whispered, "it's me. We cuddled in front of the Wizengamot, remember?" 

There was a huff of air against his face as Draco reacted, but then he stepped back. "I believe we promised five minutes," he said, casting a Timing charm with an efficient flick of his wand. "Five." With that, he stepped back, leaning in towards Harry as if they had continued uninterrupted. In a moment, his lips were brushing Harry's mouth, and Harry, mindful of what else they had promised and not wanting to be prompted, moved one hand behind Draco's head, but the other to his chest. He pretended to ignore the subsequent squeal from Myrtle, and when Draco tensed, he reacted instantly, twisting his hand into Draco's hair and pulling him into the kiss. Draco resisted for a few moments, but eventually gave in. Once that had gone on for at least a minute, Harry left his mouth to nuzzle at his neck. 

"You pay attention to _me_ ," he whispered fiercely. " _Me_ , not her." Draco nodded shakily, and took up the kiss again.

 

They left quickly after the time was up, and went quietly down the way they had come. In the corridor that led to the Chamber, they held hands, but still didn't say much. When they were settled on the furry plastic sofa, Harry sought about for a means to break the silence, and ended up asking Draco if there was a way to add protections to the Liber Geminus to garble the contents for anyone but them. 

"I have a better idea."

"Oh?"

"Remember my father's hex? I've found a way to make them unreadable unless one of us is touching the book." 

"But it won't hurt anyone," Harry demanded.

"No. That was an unnecessary embellishment by my father." 

"Brilliant." 

By the time they had finished with the spellcasting, they felt normal enough to move to the bed. Both of them were out far later than rules permitted, that night. 

 

Sunday, a number of the Slytherins left lunch early. When Harry saw Millicent crossing the floor after the others, he made his excuses and followed. She wasn't in sight when he stepped out of the Great Hall, but the blond Slytherin first-year girl was with her usual friend, just about to descend the stairs into the dungeon. Harry didn't remember the boy's name, but the girl's was hard to forget.

"Miss LeFay!" 

She whirled, and stared, open-mouthed. He hurried up to her. 

"Hi. Sorry -- I know we haven't officially met." He held out his hand to shake, and when she draped hers over it, remembered to raise it for a kiss, instead. She was so little that he had to bend rather low. "Would you tell me which way Millicent went? I was hoping to speak to her." 

She giggled tightly. "Outside," she said. "I think she's in a temper, though, Mr. Potter." 

He smiled, hoping the girl was telling the truth. By the way her friend was glaring at her, she might be. If Millicent had gone outside, she was likely to be in sight of the door for at least another minute. 

"Thank you, Miss LeFay. And call me Harry -- everyone does, really, except some professors." 

She beamed. "I'm Gentian."

"Lovely to meet you, Gentian." Harry bowed, and then grinned. "But I really do have to run. See you later!" 

"You shouldn't have!" he heard the boy say fiercely, behind him. "He's a Gryffindor!" 

Harry raced through the door. Millicent was plodding along the path to the lake, and he jogged to catch up.

 

"I heard back from the twins," Harry said, slowing to match pace with Millicent where the land flattened out. "They're sending the shell on tomorrow -- it can't be shrunk, and their large owls were out -- so we should be set for ingredients by Tuesday morning. Will you have brewing time during the week?"

She looked over, startled. "Hi to you too." 

"Oh, sorry. Hi! But I thought you'd need to know that before you'd go for any chitchat."

She snorted. "Not too dim after all, Gryffindor. Yeah, I might be able to make time -- but we'll need to brew every two weeks." She sighed. "It's probably better to start on a day that we can always manage." 

"Next Sunday, then?" 

"I suppose," she said glumly.

"For today," Harry suggested, "let's check out the two places that I have in mind. We can at least get one ready to brew in."

She snorted. "You just want me for my rock-throwing abilities."

"Definitely. You throw rocks better than any other friend I have." 

Her pace slowed, and she looked curiously at him. "Are we friends?"

"Aren't we?" 

She turned uneasily back to the path. "I ... I hadn't thought of it that way."

Harry shrugged, trying to look neither hurt nor concerned. "Well, I enjoy your company. Let's leave it at that." 

"That is less ... complicated." She bit her lip. "Thanks." Her face lit up with a broad smile. "I enjoy being with you too." 

 

It was the next Friday that Harry finally decided to broach the subject of the divination with Ron. By the end of a long, hard Quidditch practice, Ron had entered a strange, loopy mix of exhaustion and elation that Harry recognized quite well, and he decided the time was right. When Ginny, from the door, asked if they were coming, Harry waved her on, but caught at Ron's sleeve. Ron looked curiously at him.

"What's up?" he asked.

Harry took a deep breath. "I just want to talk to you privately," he said. 

"Me?" Ron answered stupidly. He sat down heavily next to Harry. "I mean, yeah -- of course."

Harry winced. "Have I been that bad?"

Ron shrugged. "Not this year, really, but last year was...." With another shrug, he trailed off, and Harry nodded. 

"Yeah," he agreed. 

"I wasn't sure we'd ever be friends again," Ron admitted. 

Harry nodded. "Neither was I, really." He looked down at the bench they were sitting on. "Is it too soon to ask you for favors, then?"

"Oh, you want a favor, do you?" Ron returned, eyebrows rising. 

Harry stuck his tongue out at him. "Maybe." 

"I.... You didn't...." Ron swallowed hard. "That's not why I'm on the team, is it?"

"What?" Harry laughed. "You prat! No. I wouldn't. Didn't we settle that earlier?" 

"Well, how do I know?" Ron retorted, but more cheerfully. "All this time with Slytherins -- they could be rubbing off on you." 

"Only one of them rubs off on me," Harry said slyly, and Ron winced. 

"Don't," he whimpered, his hands covering his eyes, and Harry laughed. 

"Sorry. I couldn't resist."

He took his wand out and flicked it towards the door in a detection spell. Nothing glowed, but he cast a general privacy charm to garble their words outside the room. Ron's brow furrowed as he watched. 

"A favor, huh?" he asked. 

Harry shrugged. "Look, what I said about Draco thinking you have the Sight...." He took a breath. "I think he's right." 

"You _cannot_ mean that." 

"Really, Ron. Everything you predicted for me last spring was right. I think you do, and I think that if the professor wasn't a complete fraud, you'd know it, rather than joking around and doing it by accident." 

Ron stared back at him. "You mean it." 

"Yeah. I do." 

"Okay." Ron ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure I believe it, but maybe." 

"Think it over, okay? Because I need someone who knows me well for that divination I told you about."

"The one with blood?" Ron yelped, eyes widening. Harry nodded. 

"Yeah, that one. And it's illegal, like I said, so don't talk about it while you're thinking." 

"Couldn't you do something else? There must be other avenues for divination." 

Harry nodded grimly. "Yeah. The Seer suggested two others--"

"Okay, then!" 

"But they're worse." Harry looked at Ron's incredulous expression and sighed. "She said she might be able to get something using the body of someone just murdered by him, or with unicorn's blood. I _won't_ use either." 

Ron's face twisted in disgust. "I'd hope not!" 

"But my blood...." Harry shrugged. "I don't think that's actually wrong." 

Ron nodded. "Yeah." He sighed. "Look, I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay. And I won't push; it's too big for that."

"Thanks." 

They walked back to Gryffindor together -- with a detour to the kitchens, where the house elves happily gave them extra cake from dinner.

When they reached the common room, Neville looked up from his homework. "You got an owl, Harry," he said. "I gave it a treat, but it wouldn't give me the letter. It's up in our room." 

Harry went upstairs. The owl was happy enough to the give the letter to him, and flew impatiently to the window as soon as he had taken the missive. Harry opened it to let the bird out, and then returned to his bed.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know we have not been as close as I would like, but I hope you will consider re-evaluating your formality. If you have any doubt, be assured that I regard you as family._

_As you expected, I am pleased to read that you will find it difficult to neglect your studies. I know that it is difficult to see the use of much of what you are taught, but believe me when I say that much of what seems trivial is the basis for knowledge that may later be critical to your survival. On a related note, please congratulate Hermione for me!_

_I hope to not need your advice about the old hovel, but thank you for the warning. As for Snuffles, I am confident in saying that he misses you as well, and wishes you could be with us often._

_I confess to still being curious. Now that the summer is over, will you tell me where you concealed yourself?_

_Much love,_

_Remus_

Harry smiled at the parchment. He penned a quick reply, addressing it to "Remus" and explaining about his contract with the twins, and their cooperative use of Polyjuice potion. When it was finished, he sealed it and headed off for the Owlery. Halfway across the common room, he was interrupted. 

"Harry, sir?" Harry looked over quickly, and realized he was frowning when the young girl, a third-year that he was fairly sure was a Catherine or Katherine, stepped back in alarm. 

"Sir?" he said incredulously, letting the source of his displeasure be known. Deliberately, he smiled. "I'm Harry; who are you?"

She swallowed, apparently missing his humor completely. "Um, I'm Katherine, Katherine McDuffie, third year. M'brother Robbie was talking to a Slytherin yesterday, and he said that you said that was okay."

A little defiance showed through at the last, and Harry felt his eyebrows lift. _What else would I say?_ he thought, but he caught the words before they came out. Answers like that were fine when he didn't care (or was trying not to care) what people thought, but hadn't he and Draco decided that they not only should care, but should make an effort to sway others? 

He thought for a moment. "Having finally started talking to Slytherins," he said, "-- _talking_ , not fighting -- I definitely wish I'd done it earlier. I believe we can, and we _ought_ ,to find where we can cooperate." 

Katherine scowled. "That boy will get him in trouble and cost us points, that's all."

"See, for you, it's still about points," Harry said, as kindly as he could, "about a big game. Even if what you think is true -- and it might not be -- that isn't what I care about anymore. For me, it's about Voldemort, and what's waiting for my year when we leave here. And it took me until last winter to realize that quite a few Slytherins aren't happy with their prospects either. If we keep ignoring potential allies because they have the wrong color tie, he's going to win the war, and the game doesn't matter next to that." 

Nearby, Dean shifted uneasily. Seamus, with him, spoke up. 

"Ah, it's fine for you, Harry, but 'tis a different matter for those of us without a Slytherin lover."

"I made friends with Millicent Bulstrode over the _summer_ ," Harry said hotly. "Draco didn't even know." 

"It doesn't change the things they've said," Dean said quietly, "Draco included." He was looking down at his hands, which he was twisting together. "Gemma is still dead." 

The words hit like a punch, and it took Harry a moment to catch his breath. "Gemma wasn't killed by anyone here," he said finally, keeping his voice even. "And we were _children_ , and those of you with parents parroted them about a lot of things. You have to count more what people say when they start thinking for themselves."

"That's easy for you to say--"

" _WHAT?_ " Harry choked on an involuntary laugh. "Pardon me? Target number one, here?"

"Yeah, but except for...."

"A half-blood? _Bent?_ "

Dean flinched back. Harry looked steadily at him. "I really think I understand." 

Dean looked away. "Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking." He cleared his throat. "Still, if they start talking to Slytherins that young, they're bound to pick up bad attitudes." 

"Or maybe the Slytherins learn younger that Muggleborn kids are normal people." 

"You can't count on that." 

"No, I can't, and I told them not to take what Slytherins said at face value -- but that it might be worth talking anyway." 

By now, people around them were watching and listening. Katherine's face was scrunched up a little, as if she were trying to follow a difficult lesson. 

"Do you really wish you'd tried younger?" Dean asked. 

"Yes." 

"But it wouldn't have worked, would it?" he persisted. "By your own argument, you all had to be old _enough_. First years believe what they learn at home. Hell, half the sixth years still do!"

"I think even the first years can learn," Harry said, although he wondered if Dean was talking about himself, at the end, "but not in a vacuum." He shrugged. "Or maybe I'm not qualified to say. I never believed the Dursleys, because that would have meant believing I was inherently an unnatural, disgusting person...." He bit his lip. "Maybe I did believe that, when I was very young, but --" 

"You knew you were gay then?" Dean blurted out. He cringed. Harry blinked. It took him a moment to tie that back to what he had been saying. 

"Not _that_. I meant doing magic."

"What?" Katherine yelped. 

"Well, _they_ think it's horrible," Harry explained. "They didn't let me do my homework, some summers. Uncle Vernon said he wouldn't have that 'freakishness' in his house, and he locked up all my books as well as my wand." He was amazed he could say this, now. Maybe it was because he was never going back there? It would have seemed humiliating to admit to while he was younger, but now he was a legal adult, and he could talk about it safely in the past, he found himself thinking that could maybe help someone else, if he had a housemate too proud to complain about a similar situation. Sammy was looking a little _too_ interested, and Harry hoped his home life wasn't as bad. "I was pretty well immune to it after a year here, though," he said steadily. "They're crazy, they hate me; I know that. I wasn't going to hate myself for them." He looked at Dean. "For that matter, maybe that's why I don't mind being bi, you know? I mean, a certain number of the standard slurs are words that I learned to tune out before I was attracted to anyone." 

Dean turned his face away, but Seamus nodded slowly. "That explains rather a lot, I think," he said non-committally. "Though I think I'll still blame the Slytherins on hormones, myself." 

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop a glance at the clock. He wouldn't mind getting hormonal with his Slytherin right now, but it was far too late to meet, even if he could get Draco a message.

"I need to run up to the Owlery while I can still be in the corridors," he said, remembering the letter in his hand. "Nice to meet you, Katherine. We can talk more later, if you want." 

 

Harry didn't get an immediate answer from Ron, but when he related the conversation to Draco, they decided to start the base potion for divination. Harry thought wryly that between this and Millicent, he was going to spend all weekend brewing. 

On Sunday, Millicent met him by the greenhouses after lunch, and they went into the secret tunnel under Greenhouse Four, and followed it down to a place where it widened out. The Tripwire charm that Harry had set before leaving on Tuesday was still in place, showing that no one had walked there since they left. He disarmed it temporarily and set down his bag. Millicent helped him fill the storage containers they had brought in when setting up. 

"Why Murtlap essence?" she asked, frowning at the magically sealed vial.

"Ah -- as a cover, really. It's the other thing I'd definitely need if I was actually making healing potions."

She snorted. "You're _good_ , Potter." 

"Thanks." 

"And who knows? Maybe you can sell it later." 

Millicent didn't have the flair of someone who was gifted at potions, but she worked more meticulously at this one than Harry had ever seen her work at anything. Conscious that she would be taking what they produced, Harry did the same. The potion was a perfect currant jelly red when they finished it, which agreed with Millicent's notes. With simultaneous sighs, they stepped back from the cauldron, and then laughed at the unplanned harmony. 

"Well, we seem to have done it," Harry said, sitting down on the dirt floor. 

"Yeah." Millicent joined him. "Thanks for your help. I'm not sure how I would have managed adding the jack bean." 

Harry shrugged. "No problem." He looked at the cauldron, although he couldn't see its contents from here, and tried to think back to her notes. He had reviewed the section for brewing this potion, but not any of the rest. "So, you take this once a day?"

Millicent nodded. "Before bed. And the book warns that I may wake up sore, but taking it in the morning leads to balance problems." 

"Ah." Harry ran a finger along the floor, getting dirt under the nail. "And when do you start needing glamours?" 

Millicent scowled, in a way that Harry would have found distinctly hostile a year ago. Now he was fairly sure that it just meant she was thinking hard. 

"I don't know," she said finally. "Everything I've read assumes that you're doing this openly." 

"Hm. Well, if you're taking this one for twelve weeks--"

"Thirteen," she said. "I'll finish on December 21. Auspicious, don't you think so?" 

"Is it?"

"It's the solstice," she said. "Which is a point of _change_ , right?"

"Oh, I see. Yeah. Anyway," Harry continued, "you can change a little, right? So maybe on the third and fourth weeks, I should do a glamour of how you look the second week, and then the fifth week, change it a little more...."

She shook her head. "No. I thought about that, but the thing is that I'm going home for Christmas. I can't look different to Mum and Dad." 

"Ah." Harry grimaced. "I can't cast a glamour that will last two weeks. I can manage about a day on myself." 

She gave a determined nod. "I'll have to learn it." 

"I take it you have trouble with Charms?"

"Only some of them," she said. "I'm horrible at transfiguration, but I'm fine with some charms -- except all the appearance ones, unfortunately. I know they're not transfiguration, but they _feel_ like it." 

"Oh." Harry thought he'd have to think about that. He had managed to teach Neville a couple of things; maybe he could teach Millicent. "What name will you use?" he asked, suddenly wondering.

"What?"

"When you're a man." 

She snorted. "I'm not going to tell you." At his incredulous look, she relented. "From what I know of you, you'd try to be nice, and work on thinking of me that way. And then you might mess up." 

"Ah." Harry shrugged. "Point. But you know?"

"Yes. Though I might change my mind." 

For a while, they both revised, but Harry found his thoughts drifting away from Symbology. He looked up. 

"So, when are we meeting, every day?"

"Pardon?"

"For me to cast your glamour, until you can do it yourself. It will have to be every day, at the same time, or almost."

"Oh." Nervously, Millicent stood up. She paced over to the cauldron, looked in it, and walked back. "Between Potions and lunch, perhaps?"

Harry shook his head. "Not unless we bring Draco in on it." 

"Is there a time you're not with him?"

"He's in all my classes except Symbology, on Tuesday and Thursday," Harry said. "But I have that slot free -- the second lesson after lunch -- on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and he's in Ancient Runes, then. Could we meet just before the last lesson of the day?"

She considered that, her face scrunched and leaned slightly to the side. "That could work," she said slowly. "I have a Forestry study with Hagrid, last period, and he understands that I need to walk down to it, and Professor Flitwick would understand that I may need to leave a few minutes early...."

"Hagrid?" Harry said. 

"Oh." Millicent cleared her throat. "Well, he was trying to be nicer to the Slytherins, after the attack last spring -- at least the ones that were helpful -- because of you, I think. And Sprout sent me over for a detention, because I ruined something, and she told him I was too clumsy to work with anything smaller than a shrub...." Her mouth twisted. 

"Right. And if anything would incline him to like you, that would." 

She smiled gratefully. "Right. So he had me work with him on the paths at the edge of the forest, and actually some grounds-keeping work as well -- although we don't call it that -- and we got along."

Harry was pleased with that. "Good," he said. 

"What about you? I heard you and Draco were doing something with Professor McGonagall?"

"Yeah. She wouldn't let me pick up a project with Professor Snape, though. Said I wouldn't have time." 

Millicent scowled. "She's probably right." 

"Still. I think she's just keeping me away from him." 

Her eyebrows came up. "And you object?" 

"He _knows_ things. He can be useful. If I can't defeat Voldemort, my N.E.W.T.s don't matter, do they?"

She gave him a hard look. "Very Slytherin of you, Potter."

"Just common sense."

"I suppose. My house doesn't expect that of yours, though." She lurched to her feet, and after peering towards the cauldron, stepped over to it. "Do you suppose it's cool enough to decant?"

"Let's see." 

The potion was cool enough. They decanted it, and Millicent took her first dose. Harry watched closely, but saw no immediate change. 

"Should anything happen?"

"Not right away. There may be some small change by morning." 

"Ah." Harry drew his wand. "Shall I cast it anyway, then?" He grinned. "Not that I'll be able to tell if it works -- a glamour that makes you look exactly like you do now."

She snorted. "Go ahead." 

Again, there was no visible change. Harry felt power coalesce in his wand and leave it, and the indescribable sense of a spell completing came back to him. Millicent said she felt the tingle of the glamour moving over her skin. That she looked no different told them nothing. Harry shrugged and tucked his wand away. "I'll remove it for a second before I recast tomorrow."

"You might not be able to see a change for a few weeks."

"Right. Oh! Do you have pictures of yourself? I might need those, later on."

Millicent grimaced. "I hate pictures." 

"Think of it as a picture of what you're leaving."

"I still don't think I have any."

"Oh well. You'll need to hang out with me in public, then, sometime when Colin is around. He loves it when I ask for prints." 

 

The brewing had taken almost two hours, and Harry, who had forgotten his Charms texts, had to spend the rest of Sunday finishing an essay. Hermione ignored him -- he suspected that she was annoyed that he had been away so long for two days in a row. He came back from meeting Draco on Tuesday in plenty of time to satisfy rules, but got the cold shoulder again. Afterwards, he lay awake wondering if it would be better if there was an Uncommon Room, and he spent some of his time with Draco where she could be with them. 

 


	18. Meeting Halfway

 

On Wednesday morning, Harry woke up feeling tired and discouraged, and might have skipped breakfast if Ron hadn't thrown a pillow at him and told him to get up. Hermione caught up with them just outside the portrait hole.

"Good morning." 

Harry shot her a look. "Hi," he said tersely.

"What?" 

"Nice to have you speaking to me again."

"Now that you're not avoiding us!"

"I wasn't avoiding you!"

"You're gone all the time!"

"I am not!" Harry stopped, both to catch his breath and to look at her. "Look," he said. "I have a schedule, precisely because Draco wants to be sure he's around Slytherin enough. We spend time together on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, so I'm not going to be available then." 

"Oh." Hermione frowned, but there was more consideration to it now. "That doesn't leave a lot of time for schoolwork."

 Harry grimaced. "Believe me, some of that involves schoolwork. He _is_ Head Boy, you know. And an hour of Tuesday is going to be with Professor McGonagall. We're starting a project next week." 

"With Professor McGonagall?"

"He thought she'd be more likely to do it for me, and that we'd both learn more together." As they crossed the landing, Harry nudged her. "We usually do, you know. My marks were better than usual, last year, and you _saw_ how well we research together." 

Her cheeks dimpled as she finally smiled. "I remember." Her gaze dropped as they started down the next flight. "But what about Sunday?"

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "I was with a friend," he said. 

"A friend," Ron repeated, joining the conversation. "Last year, that meant Malfoy."

"Well, this is someone else," Harry said. "And no, I'm not interested."

"You would have said that about him too, though," Hermione pointed out. "As late as April." 

"Really," Harry said. "I'm certain, this time. I mean, I know a lot more about myself, now." 

"But you were doing something that lasted for hours."

Harry shrugged. "Not your business," he said. 

"Harry," Hermione said warningly. 

"Really. I wasn't drinking, I wasn't off the grounds, I wasn't doing Dark Arts.... It is none of your business." 

She sighed. "Harry, I really think--"

"Mr. Potter!" 

They had reached the third floor. The hail, in Professor McGonagall's clear, carrying voice, caught Harry like a grappling hook. He froze, turning more slowly than his friends. What could she possibly know about?

She hurried forward, continuing in a conversational tone once she was near enough. "Harry, I'm afraid I must interrupt your morning. You are needed in Professor Dumbledore's office." 

She turned, and Harry jumped to match up with her long, quick stride. He was aware of Ron and Hermione lagging a little behind. "Is something wrong?" he asked. 

"I sincerely do not know. The headmaster has two Aurors visiting, and he said to inform you that you were to cooperate with them as he would expect a student of his to do." 

That had the precision of a coded message, and Harry's thoughts moved from the paranoid speculation that Lestrange's case was being reopened, and to the mysterious alliances that he had glimpsed that summer. 

"Are they Aurors that I met during the trial?" he tried, probing for information. He decided he had hit on the right tack when McGonagall shot him a quick smile. 

"One is, and one is not," she said, with a tight nod. "I am certain that you can place full confidence in Auror Tonks."

Harry nodded. In context, that message was clear; he could not trust the other Auror. He looked back at Ron and Hermione -- several paces behind now -- and waved them off. As they nodded and turned away, he realized two things: first, that they had obeyed his signal without question, and second, that he would not have noticed that a year ago. 

_Could I really take over Gryffindor?_

 

"Ah, there you are, Harry," Professor Dumbledore greeted him brightly, as Harry entered the headmaster's office. His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles, as if he were offering a delightful treat, or sharing a treasured joke. "This fine witch and wizard from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have come to talk to you about--"

An unfamiliar man in Auror's robes stepped forward, raising his hand in a demand for silence. "If you don't mind, sir, _we_ will tell him what we wish to know." 

"Yes, yes, of course," Dumbledore said brightly. "I'm afraid it slipped my mind in making introductions. I am accustomed to setting my students at ease, of course."

"Of course," the wizard said stiffly. 

" _May_ I make introductions?" At the Auror's nod, Dumbledore turned to nod himself, but at Harry. "Harry, this is Auror Richard Mason and Auror Nymphadora Tonks. Please cooperate appropriately with their investigation. Auror Mason, Auror Tonks, this is Harry Potter, a tolerable student, but an impressive young man, and a quintessential Gryffindor."

Harry looked at Auror Tonks. "Reckless, unmanageable, and blunt," he translated.

She grinned. "Well, I approve of blunt -- it makes our job easy." 

Auror Mason rolled his eyes. "We'll take over from here, sir," he said, and Dumbledore, with a nod to him and a deeper one to Tonks, departed. The headmaster's office felt plainer and quieter without him there, although nothing else had changed.

"Have a seat, Harry," Tonks said, gesturing at one of the visitors' chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk. She summoned a third one -- a stubby, squashy armchair -- from over by the wall and perched on the arm of it. Auror Mason sat forward and upright on a less deep chair.

"Now, there's no cause for alarm," Tonks said sincerely, "no additional sightings or anything -- but we want to ask you some questions about your encounter with Sirius Black, back in 1994."

"Why?" Harry retorted. "No one wanted to listen to me then." It was true, and it also gave him a moment to think. Dumbledore had made it clear that he should cooperate "appropriately." That probably meant that the strange Auror wasn't an ally, but he could say a lot of the truth. Anything he would have said that night, almost -- anything except that Sirius was an animagus. All of the truth that didn't endanger Sirius, he decided, as Tonks cleared her throat. 

"Was there something you tried to say then?" she prompted. 

"That he didn't hurt me," Harry said firmly. "That he was _nice_. That he said he was innocent. And everyone kept telling me to be quiet, and saying I was hysterical, or that I'd been Confunded, and they were going to suck out his soul without even listening to what he had to say, and I'm glad he escaped!" 

He stopped. Auror Mason was staring at him. 

"Sorry." He was sounding half-hysterical _now_. Harry hadn't expected to recall his feelings at the time so keenly. "I just -- I haven't talked about this since, really. But it was _horrible_. And Minister Fudge was right there, and he was listening to _Snape_ , like an adult that had seen half of what had happened _had_ to be more reliable than a teenager who had seen all of it." 

"Was Professor Snape inaccurate?" Auror Mason asked. 

"He hates Sirius, and he hated me, then, and he assumed things that were wrong." Harry let out a short huff of breath. "I do believe he _thought_ he was protecting me, and looking back on it, considering what he knew, what he did was very brave." He was admitting that to himself, for the first time, as much as to them. Snape had known he was facing an unmedicated werewolf and a man who had carelessly nearly killed him as a boy, and he had thought he was facing a mass murderer. That wasn't just vainglory, or hatred of Sirius -- he must initially have been moved as much by the need to protect three students from what he feared himself. "It's just that he wouldn't _listen_." 

"Well, we're listening," Tonks said. "Tell us what happened." 

"Sirius grabbed Ron -- my friend, Ron Weasley -- and took him back to an abandoned house, and Hermione Granger and I followed. Except it turned out he wasn't after Ron--"

"He was after you?" Mason suggested. 

"Let him talk," Tonks chided, and Mason quieted. Harry wondered if she had seniority. 

"No, he was after Ron's rat. He said Ron's rat was Peter Pettigrew in his animagus form--" Harry had to stop again as Auror Mason laughed. Auror Tonks glared at him. 

"Richard, do you have any training in interrogation protocol?" she asked pointedly. 

"Really, Tonks! Clearly the man had gone round the bend." He looked scornfully at Harry. "Did you believe him?"

"Actually," Harry spat, " _no_. Not at first." 

"What convinced you?" Tonks asked. 

"Well," Harry said coldly, "I think that would be when he cast a spell on Ron's rat, forcing him to human form, and the man started begging all of us for mercy." 

The room was silent. Suddenly afraid that he had said too much, Harry looked nervously at Tonks. To his relief, she smiled and gave him a little nod. "Well," she said, " _that's_ certainly new information." 

"We'd known Ron's rat was too old," Harry said. "Ron had had him for the three years that I'd known him, and he'd been Percy's rat for years before that, and the Weasleys had just found him in the garden -- spying, probably. And he was missing a finger." 

"As Peter Pettigrew would be," Tonks said, understanding.

"Right. And Sirius told me that Peter had actually been my parents' Secret Keeper, although they let everyone think it was him, and when they died, he went after Peter, who turned into a rat and ducked down the sewers, and caused the explosion as a cover."

"And this rat animagus who was allegedly Peter Pettigrew?" Mason asked, his brow furrowed.

"Denied it at first, but then switched to saying he had no choice. While he was begging for mercy, I mean. He said that Sirius 'didn't understand' how terrible Voldemort was...." Harry had to stop and swallow. Why hadn't he just let them kill Pettigrew? They could have brought back the body, and said it was self-defense -- even now, though, he didn't think he could do that, and he'd been far more innocent then.

"So we knocked him out and were bringing him back. Except we'd already knocked Professor Snape out -- sort of accidentally. And when Professor Lupin turned into a wolf, Pettigrew revived and escaped as a rat, since Sirius was busy protecting us from the wolf, and then Professor Snape revived and kept us from going after the rat." 

"During the time that you were with Sirius Black, did he explain how he had escaped from Azkaban?" 

"No. Just that he'd seen the rat with Ron in a picture in the paper, and he'd known that he had to get to Hogwarts, because Pettigrew was set up where he could kill me if Voldemort came back, and Sirius wanted to protect me."

There was a moment of silence as they digested this, or possibly as Mason did, and Tonks pretended to. 

"Have you heard from him since?" 

Harry started to shake his head, but then stopped. "Just once," he said, letting his nervousness show. "He wrote to me after he escaped and told me he was safe, but that he was leaving the country and wouldn't be able to keep in touch."

Auror Tonks nodded. "I think that will do for today, then. I expect that Ron Weasley would be able to provide us with a picture of this rat?" 

Harry nodded. "Probably. Shall I send him?"

"If you would, thank you," Tonks said. "That will give us time to make a quick report." 

Harry nearly flew down to the Great Hall.

"Ron," he said, grabbing a sausage from the table and folding a slice of bread around it, "you need to come with me right away!"

"What about me?" Hermione protested. 

"Come along if you like." 

Harry led his friends out of the room and up the now-empty staircase. "The Aurors wanted to ask me about Sirius," he told them quietly, "-- about what happened in our third year, I mean. And they want pictures of Scabbers, Ron." 

"I only have two that he's in," Ron said. "I threw most of them away." 

"Well, that was silly!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Two's better than none," Harry said, waving it off. 

"But they believe you?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Well, at least one of them did. I've heard that Pettigrew's been spotted, but don't tell anyone. Oh, and both of you should know exactly what I told them...." 

During the trip up to and back down from Gryffindor, they settled the amended story of their encounter with Sirius, and decided that if a dog was necessary, it should be one that Sirius had kept under magical control. Harry raced off to Defense Against the Dark Arts feeling giddy with hope. 

 

_You're unusually cheerful this morning_ , Draco wrote in the Liber Geminus, as Professor Hecksban launched into a review of what they had learned so far about protecting enclosed spaces. 

_I talked to your cousin -- the one you met this summer._

_She had news?_

_Not directly, but she and another Auror questioned me about what happened during my third year. I don't want to say more in writing._

_Even here?_

_Right._

"Harry?" Professor Hecksban prompted.

"I-- Um, what?"

The young professor looked distinctly amused. "I was wondering if you had a hypothesis." 

"Um...." Harry looked desperately around, but there was nothing to indicate what they may have been talking about. The blackboard had a ring of yellow loops drawn over a red box. It might have meant anything. "I'm afraid I missed the question." 

"I see." Hecksban cocked his head to the side. "What was the last thing you heard?" 

"You were summarizing the reading. Which, you know, I understood." 

"However, two other people had questions, and it really didn't take that long." 

"I understand." 

"And will you try to pay closer attention next time?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry."

Hecksban nodded. "I had just introduced the next subject, which is how to protect spaces that do _not_ have a physical delineation, such as walls or curtains. How do you think you would do that?"

Harry thought. A privacy spell of that sort would be useful. "Do you sort of imagine one, like with a shield spell?"

" _Do_ you imagine a physical form for a shield spell?"

"Well, yes. For, you know, size and shape." To Harry's embarrassment, someone sniggered, but a moment later, Hecksban nodded. 

"That's an advanced technique. You seem to have good instincts for combat spells. Draco?"

"Harry's half right," Draco said. "Except you don't just imagine it; you also draw it with your wand."

"Draw?"

"Sketch. Single lines where you want walls." 

Hecksban nodded again. "Generally, yes. However, if your mental construct is strong enough without it, the sketching is unnecessary, so in that sense, Harry is more than half right." He smiled brightly at the class and drew his wand. "To start out, however, you will all use drawing, whether you think you need it or not. Like so...." 

He whipped his wand around him in a spiral, and a glowing golden dome formed over him. 

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed from the door. 

Harry grinned back at him. Remembering Draco's advice from earlier, he tapped the table beside him, beckoning Ron to join them. To his surprise, Ron did. 

 

The following several mornings, Harry couldn't help looking through the _Daily Prophet_ for news about Sirius, although he suspected it was too early. He didn't find anything. It was Saturday when Hermione handed him the front section from Dean's Muggle paper. 

"Here," she said, pointing out a small picture at the bottom of the front page. Harry looked. The man in the picture was immediately familiar. The text below described him as an escaped criminal. 

"Police in Burton-on-Bligh consider Mr. Blunt the most likely suspect in the brutal murder of a local family two nights ago. However...." 

Harry looked up. "And the _Daily Prophet_ doesn't have anything?" 

Looking troubled, she shook her head. "Nothing." 

"That's mad!" 

"Of course it is."

"If it was Fudge, I could understand, but Minister Ramsley is supposed to be keen on enforcement, right?" 

She let out a breath. "That doesn't mean he wants to admit failure." 

"People could get killed!" Harry's voice had risen. Other students were looking at them, he realized. Even some of the nearby Hufflepuffs were staring. He lifted the paper. "Look," he began loudly, but Hermione grabbed his arm, weighing it down. 

"Later," she hissed. "We should think about it." 

"Think!" Harry exclaimed indignantly. "It's a cover-up! People need to know--"

"People _here_ don't need to know _now_ \--" 

"Harry," said Draco's cool voice. "You are making a spectacle of yourself ... over a _Muggle_ newspaper."

"Nott escaped!" Harry retorted, shoving the paper at him. 

Draco stared for a moment, reached his hand out, and then quickly pulled it back. "Put that in your bag," he said, the words clipped and precise. "Let's take a walk. We need to plan." 

Nodding, Harry folded the paper and tucked it away. Hermione gave an exasperated huff, and Draco arched one pale eyebrow as he looked over at her. 

"Well?" he asked. "Are you coming?"

"I am," Ron declared defiantly, but Draco merely nodded. "Very good. Anyone else?"

"It's my paper," Dean stated, standing with Hermione. For the first time in the encounter, Draco's expression soured. Harry jostled him. 

"Come along if you like," he said to Dean. "It matters to you." 

Surveying the standing Gryffindors, Draco slowly nodded his consent, and then turned away. As a group, they started towards the door. Linnet met them at the end of the tables. 

"Draco...." 

"Yes," he said. "Come along."

"Gilbert--"

"Not yet." 

"Now wait a minute--" Dean began. 

"Dean," Harry said sharply. "No. She's fine." He spoke with more confidence than he felt. He had met Linnet, but he didn't know her well. He would have preferred the neutrals that he knew better. 

As if summoned by the thought, Blaise and Millicent cut ahead of them and left the Great Hall. Harry was not surprised to find them loitering outside it. 

"Thought we'd tag along," Blaise said coolly, falling into step with the group. "Just in case you had something suicidal in mind." 

Draco stopped short, and looked back at their group. "This," he said, "is ridiculous. Eight people?" 

"Well, it's certainly not _subtle_ ," Blaise shot back. 

"It doesn't need to be," Harry said.

With a huff, Draco resumed walking. Before they had crossed the courtyard, Ginny Weasley had joined them and was accepted without comment. The day was bright, but the wind cutting, and by mutual agreement, they went down to the pitch, where they could huddle in the lee of the stands. 

"So," Linnet asked, as she stepped past Millicent, "what's up?" 

Harry took out the paper and spread it against the wall, pointing at the photograph. "I'm sure that's Mr. Nott." 

Draco moved forward and took a closer look at the caption. "Escaped criminal John Blunt," he read. "Police in Burton-on-Bligh consider Mr. Blunt the most likely suspect in the brutal murder of a local family two nights ago. Blunt had escaped police custody during a prison transfer earlier that day. According to police reports, the only items stolen from the victims' home were clothing and food, which the escaped prisoner would have needed. Investigators have no theory as to why two serviceable cars were left--"

"Because he _can't drive_ ," Harry said. 

Ron squinted at the paper. "I'm not sure...."

"I am," Draco said. "And I probably saw more of Mr. Nott than you did." 

"Theo must know," Blaise contributed. "He's been disturbingly cheerful since he got that letter yesterday."

"And here I was assuming his mother had found him a wife," Draco remarked. "Yes, that _would_ explain a few of the comments he made last night."

"But wouldn't it be in the _Daily Prophet_?" Linnet asked. 

Ginny snorted. "Not if the Ministry is hiding it." 

"Why would they, though?" Ron asked. "Minister Ramsley has been trying to get support for tracking down Death Eaters, right?"

"All the more reason to not admit he lost one," Harry said bitterly.

"Unless," Draco suggested, "they want to lull him into a false sense of security."

"But people should be warned!" 

"No necessarily. After this summer's trial, most wizards and witches would recognize Nott." 

Harry hesitated. That was a point. "Recognize, yes," he said. "Know to keep their kids in, though? To not walk alone daydreaming, with a wand to be grabbed?" 

"And it's especially dangerous for Muggleborn citizens or mixed families who don't get a Muggle paper," Hermione pointed out.

"So, do we duplicate this and post it all over school or not?" Ginny asked. Everyone looked at her. "Well? That is the question, isn't it?" 

"Succinctly put, yes," Draco said. "Of course, Harry could also grant some lucky journalist an interview -- but that puts him in opposition to Minister Ramsley, and I think we should avoid that, at least while he is in school." 

"Maybe we should talk to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said.

"Why?" Harry said scornfully. "So we can wait for him to handle it?"

"Why not?" Ginny asked, confused. 

"I think that's an excellent idea," Draco said smoothly, with a quick, quelling look at Harry. "If he acts, _we_ will have no need to. If he does not, we can consider some other avenue of approach. Miss Bones of Hufflepuff, perhaps? Since her aunt is already in the opposition...."

"Or just send a copy to my brothers," Ron said. "The twins could have that all over London in hours." 

"Better to start at the top," Blaise opined. "In case there _is_ a reason, and we just don't get it."

Harry couldn't think of any reason that would make the risk to the population worth it, but he lifted his chin. "All right. We start with Dumbledore. But we don't wait if he brushes it off." 

After a moment's hesitation, Draco nodded. "Agreed. For now, this isn't a secret, but it's just gossip -- an oddity. Spread it in whispers, if at all. Harry, Hermione, and I will talk to Dumbledore." The Gryffindors looked to Harry, and the Slytherins to Draco, but within a few seconds, everyone had nodded. Linnet and Blaise headed back to the castle in silent proximity, and Dean left with Ginny, whispering. Ron and Millicent lingered. 

"Is there some reason you're still here?" Hermione asked tightly, as Millicent looked out at the path. 

Millicent shrugged. "In case someone doesn't approve of the company Malfoy keeps, of course. Is there some reason we haven't headed back yet?"

"We should make copies," Harry said. "Before we go handing this one to him." 

"Harry...." Hermione protested. 

"Look, I know he's on our side, okay? He just always thinks _his_ way is the best, and I'm not giving this up to him." 

Draco nodded. "I also would prefer the flexibility. One for each of us, perhaps?"

 

Millicent, her own copy of the article tucked inside her robes, left them just inside the Entrance Hall. Ron followed them up to the second floor landing. There, he paused and cleared his throat. "Er, would you like another...?" 

"I think the office will be crowded as it is," Hermione said reasonably. 

"Right. So why not just Harry?"

To Harry's amusement, Hermione and Draco shared a look. 

"As Head Girl and Head Boy," Draco said, "we represent the students in general, as well as the two houses most closely tied to the matter." 

"And Harry will lose his temper if this goes badly," Hermione added.

Draco nodded. "Better to launch three of us at the encounter, I think." 

"I will not--"

"Yes, you would," Hermione said amiably. "But we don't mind."

Ron snorted. "We're all impressed you dare, honestly." 

 

The password today was Blood Pops, which Harry found a bit disturbing. They rode the spiral staircase up to the antechamber and found the door to the office open. Dumbledore, standing next to Fawkes, turned as they arrived. 

"Ah," he said. "I had thought that someone would arrive, but had not expected all three of you. Last spring's alliance survives, does it?"

Hermione shot a look at Draco. "Yes," she said. 

"Impressive. And that, I believe, makes the strange group that left breakfast this morning more understandable. You have, perhaps, come to tell me what led to that sudden display of house unity?"

"Precisely, sir," Draco answered, and Harry took the newspaper from his bag and extended it to the headmaster. Dumbledore accepted it with deep nod. He frowned at the grey newsprint.

"Air Crash in Sumatra?"

"Below that, sir," Harry said. Dumbledore tilted the paper and adjusted his half-moon glasses. "I see more of this 'EU' curren-- Oh!" He lifted the paper closer. "Oh, dear." 

"We didn't find anything in the _Prophet_ , sir," Hermione explained. "But it does look like Mr. Nott." 

"Looks like!" Draco exclaimed. "It _is_ him; I'm certain."

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore murmured, stumbling back and sinking into one of the chairs usually used by visitors. The paper was still in his hand. "How disheartening." 

"The Ministry's covering it up," Harry said. "They have to be."

"Well," Dumbledore demurred. "I'm sure Minister Ramsley sees it merely as not mentioning--"

"They're endangering people!" 

Dumbledore looked up, all weakness suddenly gone. "Oh, I quite agree, my dear boy. It is unconscionable."

"We thought," Draco said neutrally, "that you might inquire as to whether there was some extraordinary justification for this oversight. A hostage, perhaps, or a delicate plan to recapture the fugitive."

"And if not," Harry said, "tell people." 

"Yes." Dumbledore stood, leaning for a moment on the arm of the chair before straightening. "That, I will do. Thank you all for coming to me. Now, I believe I must arrange a visit to London." 

Draco and Hermione turned at the dismissal, but Harry did not. "If this stays secret," he said fiercely, "I want a reason." 

Dumbledore's eyes widened. A moment later, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Of course you do, Mr. Potter," he said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "And I will see to it that you get one, although it may not be one you can relay to everyone that you left breakfast with this morning."

Harry nodded. "Understood." It wasn't, he told himself, promising anything. 

"Good."

 

"Harry?" Ron called. On the verge of leaving the Quidditch changing rooms, Harry paused reluctantly, pulling the door mostly closed to keep out the frosty night air. Gryffindor's practice hadn't started until after dinner, but it had been a good one. Harry had taken a quick warming shower; he was looking forward to meeting Draco -- privately, this time. 

"Yeah?" he said neutrally. 

"I wanted to talk." Ron shook his still-dripping hair nervously. "About, you know, the divination thing." 

That was enough to pull Harry back. He reviewed the team in his mind, confirming that everyone else had left. "Okay." 

"I think I might, y'know, do it, but I want more information. About what's involved." 

Harry nodded. "I think-- I know you two don't get along, but I think you should talk with Draco."

Ron's face closed a little. "Why? Don't know that I'll believe what he says." 

"Well, Draco and me, I mean. I can tell you about some things, but he did the potions research, and knows more about some aspects of it than I do." Harry thought quickly. He didn't want to bring Ron down to the Chamber of Secrets before he was committed, but Draco was probably already waiting for him down there. "Look, how about this? I'll go and find Draco, and we'll meet you in half an hour, outside the library." 

After only a moment of hesitation, Ron nodded. "Okay."

 

When Harry entered the Chamber of Secrets, Draco immediately crossed over to him and kissed him. While Harry was trying to remind himself that he had a mission, Draco began to nuzzle his hair. 

"You smell like flying," he murmured, and Harry pressed against the warmth of his body. 

"God. I wish I could just drag you off to bed." 

"Can't you?" Draco pulled back enough to look at him.

Sighing, Harry moved to take Draco's hands in his own. "Sorry, but no. Ron's decided he wants to talk about the divination, and has even agreed to hear the details from you, so I told him I'd bring you up to talk."

"We're not doing that here?"

"Not if we're just talking. I thought the space on the fourth floor, where the Uncommon Room will be."

"Is it clean enough?"

Harry shrugged. "It's not great, but Mill and I have been working on it. There's a clear space big enough for twenty, at least."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Mill?" he asked mockingly.

"Well, she's good at throwing rocks around," Harry answered, ignoring the implied question. 

"I expect so. Were you planning to inform me of this little project?"

Harry grinned. "When it was clean enough. I thought you might help with the lighting charms, and maybe furniture." 

Draco looked around at their space, which now had shelves under the table to hold parchment, quills, and glasses. "Would it help to bring drinks?"

"I hadn't thought about it." Harry frowned. "I don't want to mess up his judgment. It's his decision." 

"But it may help him to feel included," Draco argued. "Let's. Not too much, as you say; I wouldn't want him to feel tricked. I'll make a carafe, and we can pour off most of the less expensive cognac to leave here, and then bring enough for each of us to have a glass." 

"I...." Harry didn't like the idea. "No," he said. "I don't want to be carrying it in the halls, and I brought it for here, anyway. Let's stop at the kitchens for butterbeer and cakes." 

"That seems too ... everyday."

"But it needs to be," Harry retorted, his feelings finally coalescing. "Otherwise, he'll feel like we're paying him off, and he won't want to do it." 

Draco shook his head. "Gryffindors!" he said, but he reached out to thread his fingers though Harry's. "Let's go, then." 

 

Ron was waiting half-way between the main staircase and the library, and he stepped out of the shadows silently, giving Draco an almost furtive nod. Going along with the mode, Harry grinned at him and gestured at him to come along as he set off away from the library and toward the back stairs. 

When they were safely out of trafficked areas, he stopped. "All right," he said, "I want to take you somewhere to talk. It's a secret, though; you need to promise you won't tell."

Ron hesitated. "What about Hermione?" 

"Especially not Hermione," Harry answered. "Not now. In a month or so, maybe."

"So this isn't some other way into Salazar's hideout."

"No. This is a space I want for the Uncommon Room." 

Ron shook his head, his eyes flicking to Draco and away. "I still think that's a bad idea. I don't like you visiting with Slytherins, Harry."

"You can't stop me, and you know it. Do you want be able to find me when I am, or not?" 

Ron bit his lip for a moment, and then sighed. "All right. I promise."

"Come on, then." 

Ron wasn't startled by the mirror. They had come this way as third years, shortly after Harry got the Marauders' Map, and had confirmed that the passageway was indeed blocked. He did give Harry an odd look as Harry tapped the glass and then reached through it to open the door, but he followed Harry through readily, ignoring Draco at his back. His eyes widened as Harry activated the glowing strip on the walls.

"We didn't notice that, before." 

"No, and not all of it works," Harry said, leading Ron and Draco around the curve and into the wide space beyond. "It should be twice as bright as it is, in here. I need someone who can figure out the charm work to fix the one on the other side." 

"You've been working on this," Ron said. 

"A bit," Harry agreed. "Still no furniture, I'm afraid, but we stopped and picked up some cushions."

"Oh?" Ron asked, looking curiously at their school bags. Draco put his down and drew his wand with a flourish. Ron, Harry noted, brought his hand to his own wand at that.

"Observe," Draco declared and pulling a scone-sized object out of his bag, tossed it in the air and pointed his wand at it. It came down a large, thick cushion, big enough to sit on. He repeated the procedure with five more cushions, leaving a broad heap of them. Harry pulled the nearest one clear of the others, plopped down on it, and set down their picnic basket from the House Elves. He took out a platter of little cakes and biscuits, and then six bottles of butterbeer. 

Ron snorted. "Planning to get me drunk?"

"Not tonight," Draco said coolly, extracting his own cushion. "It will do no good to have you make a decision you don't understand."

"Right," Harry said, overturning the basket and setting the platter on it. "And anyway, since when would two bottles of _butterbeer_ get you drunk?"

Ron snorted. "Depends on whether you've added something else to them, like the twins used to." 

Draco coughed slightly. "Ah," he said. "The twins." 

"Seriously," Harry continued, "I want you to have all the information on this before you promise anything. I won't think less of you if you say no, but if you say yes, I expect you to mean it."

Ron studied him for a moment, and then nodded. "All right," he said, sitting down on a cushion, so his long legs sprawled out, one in front and one bent to the side. "Let's hear it." 

Draco sighed, and sat on the other side of Harry, just out of reach, so the three of them faced in from a curve. "We have four options, so far." He took a large vial full of shimmering liquid from his pocket, and tilted it in the dim light. "Of these, we have only completed the base potion for one. This is the least Dark of the methods, but also the least likely to work." 

Ron was staring, mesmerized, at the vial. Harry leaned forward to wave a hand in front of his face. "You in there, Ron?" 

"Um, wha--" With a visible shake, Ron looked away. Without comment, Draco lowered the vial so it was obscured by the shadows from the folds of his robes. "Um, yeah," Ron said. "Go on." 

"This one," Draco said, "is the least Dark. The base potion is not Dark at all, and the components were fairly easy to procure. As the diviner, however, you would need to draw Harry's blood -- not much; a prick of the third finger should do -- and drip it into the base potion for the scrying." 

Ron, who had pulled his lip tight under his teeth at the mention of drawing blood, slowly relaxed and nodded. 

"There is some chance," Draco continued, "that the act of bleeding him in a magical context will make the divination Dark Arts. I haven't tested this, for obvious reasons--" 

"What, is Dumbledore keeping an eye on you?" Ron needled. 

Draco's brow drew down in surprised puzzlement. "I have the Quiris," he said. "Didn't you know?"

Harry shrugged. "No reason he would. I keep forgetting it myself, since I haven't seen them, yet." 

"Well, we need to remedy that," Draco said crisply. "In any case, the Quiris-- You do know what they are, don't you?"

"Magical, Potter-bred creatures that can detect Dark energies." 

"Precisely. So if I attempted the experiment, and it _did_ turn out to be Dark, they would repulse me and I would anger them, and I would be unable to see to their care." 

Ron's eyebrows rose. "You've never struck me as an animal-lover, Malfoy." 

Harry grinned. "The Quiris are a little bit _different_."

Malfoy nodded. "Their presence...." His mouth compressed as he bit the inside of his lip. "It feels rather like the first flush of fancying someone," he confessed, "but translated to an appropriate form for a pet."

Harry snorted. " _If_ you haven't been doing Dark Arts."

"Can I see them?" Ron asked.

"Of course," Draco said promptly. "The headmaster has forbidden me to have them out in public, but they are not a secret." 

"Why can't they be out in public then?" Ron asked, drawing an elegant shrug from Draco. 

"Perhaps he does not wish to know who might flee them." 

"You mean he doesn't want to embarrass Snape?" Harry shot back.

"An irresponsible allegation, Harry," Draco said calmly. 

"Oh, yes, of course. An _entirely_ unwarranted assumption on my part." Still, he smiled as he said it, and Draco smiled back. 

"It certainly should be," he retorted mildly. "In any case, Weasley, that is the first option. The second is similar, but adds a focus-enhancing potion taken before that. It would not add any potentially Dark elements, but would be a little more dangerous.

"The third option," he continued, at Ron's nod, "recreates the procedure used by the Seer whom Harry went to this summer. Have you heard about that?"

"Not in detail," Ron said, looking between them, and Harry sighed. 

"It was kind of creepy," he said. "I paid her in silver, and she transfigured the silver into a bowl--"

"Leaving the tarnish as streaks," Draco added. "That turns out to be important, as is the fact of payment."

"Right," Harry said. "So you'd have to keep the silver afterwards, although you could turn it back into Sickles and spend it, of course. I just can't get it back." 

"That's weird," Ron said.

Draco shrugged. "It establishes a contractual relationship between the diviner and the source of the blood."

"Oh, so this one uses blood too?" 

Harry nodded. "A lot more of it." He started to reach for the butterbeer, but then took a chocolate biscuit instead. "She cut me where Wormtail did, and spilled a lot of my blood into the bowl. A cup or more. Snape gave me Blood Replenisher right afterwards. Then she poured a potion on top -- and that's not the nicest stuff, either; Draco won't be able to finish it himself if the Quiris are still here -- and combined them, then scried from that. Oh -- and she painted some of the potion onto her face -- eyelids and around the mouth--" 

"Disgusting!"

"Yeah. And then I got to ask her one question--"

"Just one?"

"Yeah, but her answer wasn't just...." Harry tried to think how to explain. 

"The question focused her divination," Draco said clearly. "From there, her answer could extend, if the nature of the question showed her paths." 

"Right," Harry said. "Except she realized that she was mostly seeing me, and said it would take someone who knew me better to sort out the threads that were Voldemort." 

Ron shuddered. "Well, with any luck, we won't need to go that far, and if we do, it should be enough."

Draco nodded. "With luck, yes. I would prefer not to go to the fourth method, as that would require you to drink a potion containing Harry's blood, and I can do nothing that would entirely safeguard either of you from unintended consequences." 

"All right!" Harry said quickly. "Enough of that." He opened a butterbeer and cast a quick warming charm on it. "Ron?"

Ron nodded and took the bottle, but didn't taste it or look at it. His gaze was locked on nothing as his eyes narrowed and then relaxed. "I'll do it," he said, squaring his shoulders and looking at Harry. "The first three, at least." He lifted the bottle in a toast. "Cheers." 

"Thank you," Harry said, passing a second warmed bottle to Draco before opening one for himself. "I appreciate it." 

"Okay," Ron said, his voice a little bit hoarse. "Er ... so, shall I try it now?"

"No," Draco said. "Not here." 

"We could move." 

Harry shook his head. He wanted Ron to really understand this. "No. Next week will be soon enough." 

"Besides," Draco said, "you've started on butterbeer. Thus, business is concluded." 

Harry shot him a quick look. He was pretty sure that even a swallow or two of cognac wouldn't interfere with any divination that didn't involve drinking a potion. On the other hand, assuming that should keep Ron from arguing, and maybe that was Draco's intent. Or maybe it wasn't a warning, but just some sort of etiquette thing. 

"All right." Ron sat back. "Though in some ways, it would be easier to do it right away."

"Gryffindor," Draco sniffed.

"You're involved with one," Ron retorted. 

"Oh, I'm quite aware of that," Draco said, smiling at Harry. "Still, I can hardly help it if some of your attitudes continue to amuse me." 

"Well, that's mutual," Harry interjected. "So, when should we go and see the Quiris?"

Draco considered. "After breakfast tomorrow? We have time before our meeting with Professor McGonagall."

"Why are _you_ meeting with our head of house?" Ron asked. 

Draco frowned. "For our project."

"Combined transfiguration, Ron, remember?" 

"Oh, right."

"We've mostly been talking about Quidditch, this week," Harry explained to Draco. "Anything else has been in passing."

"Except this," Ron pointed out, with a scowl. "And Nott. I can pay attention if it matters." 

"And you don't think schoolwork matters?" Draco said sharply.

"Not constantly," Ron answered. "Besides, it's not even _my_ schoolwork." 

"Ah," Draco answered. "That's true, I suppose." Harry could almost see the brittle tension behind the cool words. He turned on his cushion, nudging it closer as he moved, to sit leaning against Draco. 

"Definitely not yours," he affirmed, before looking back to Ron. "So, how is your schoolwork going? It's odd only having you in three of my classes."

"Well, if you hadn't stayed in _Potions_ , of all things..." 

They talked for an hour, with Harry occasionally heading off building clashes between Ron and Draco. Despite the extra work, he was happy, and they both pretended that nothing was odd about the situation. Harry and Ron had second bottles of butterbeer, and when Draco pushed his second back to Harry, Harry nudged it over to Ron. While Ron opened it, Draco and Harry kissed. Afterwards, Draco continued to stare at him, his eyes promising more. With an effort, Harry looked away. 

"It's getting sort of late...." he said. Maybe if they left right away, he could get some time with Draco. 

"Wait," Ron said. He took a quick swallow of the butterbeer. "This thing with Nott...."

"Yeah?"

"Well, that's why I agreed to talk to you -- to do this. I talked to Dean about it, and he still had yesterday's paper, so we read about the murders ...." Ron swallowed. "And he talked about Gemma, and--" He looked away. "We need to do something. Cabot isn't getting the results the Minister of Magic claims, if they're having escapes."

Slowly, Draco turned away, though he kept one hand in contact with Harry. "I suspect it was actually a breakout," he offered. "Theo was doing his best to taunt me in the common room, yesterday. Ranting on about how his family was loyal to the Dark Lord and would be rewarded, whilst my father had ineptly attempted to play both sides, and he would suffer, and Professor Snape would suffer...." Draco swallowed, and tossed his head. "It was really quite tedious." 

"Oh, so that's what Blaise meant." 

"Among other strange speeches, yes. So I believe his uncle was rewarded by means of contriving his release, and Theo has been told this to strengthen his own loyalty."

"We should probably warn Professor Snape," Harry said. 

"Already done. I did note his inclusion in Theo's list of blood traitors."

Ron made a face. "That's a pretty phrase."

Draco shrugged. "It's what he calls me."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"What, that the majority of my ancestors would consider me a traitor to my line, for my current associations and alliances? I rather do, yes. However, I do not believe they would be _right_ to do so. People used to think the sun orbited the earth. That something was once widely believed does not make it an indisputable truth." His proud manner faded to something more sullen as he twisted his heel against the stone floor. "And perhaps they wouldn't be as united as it seems. My mother seems increasingly less dedicated to the idea of pureblood superiority the longer my father is away." His face twisted. "Not that I expect any half-bloods to show up in my list of potential wives." 

Ron laughed. "You're letting your mummy pick a wife for you?" 

"It isn't as if I'll want any of them. She'll choose someone I can tolerate for long enough--" 

"Why not marry someone you _want_?" asked Ron.

"I want Harry," Draco said fiercely. "However, he is neither a pureblood, nor capable of bearing me children, so I still require a breeding wife." 

Harry hid his face in his hands. He was, at once, amused, dismayed, embarrassed, flattered, and insulted, and the muddle left him unsure what would show.

Draco touched his arm briefly. "I should not have said that, here. I--"

"I'd prefer you didn't, thanks," Harry mumbled. There was an awkward silence. 

"I think you're an idiot," Ron said finally, but the statement was more blunt than cutting. "He loves you, and even I can see you love him. You'll be miserable, and for what? Someone's approval, that's all." 

"It's more than that," Draco said, speaking fiercely to the table. "It's family. It's history. It's what I _am_."

"If what you _are_ comes down to what you can pump out of your bollocks, you're a damn sight less than human." 

Draco looked up, glowering. 

"Enough," Harry interjected. "Ron -- I appreciate the support, but it's not your fight."

With a soft growl, Ron sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not that I like watching this disaster," he said finally. "I should get back to Gryffindor. Coming, Harry?"

Harry looked uncertainly at Draco, whose face had gone blank. 

"Nah," he said. "Think I'll go down to Slytherin." He reached out to take Draco's hand. "Mind sharing your bed, love?"

Draco brightened. "I suppose I could endure it. Should we have you back before dawn?"

"Well, before breakfast, anyway." Harry looked over at Ron. "Will you cover for me?"

Ron winced. "If I can," he agreed. "You'd better be back before Hermione is awake, though." 

"I think I can manage that."

 

It was early enough that there was no need for subterfuge while they were still in the public corridors, but late enough that few other students were out. Draco took Harry's hand as they started down the corridor to the less-traveled east staircase. 

"I really am sorry," Draco said. "But he did ask." 

"I know." Harry held on to Draco and wondered when that would pull him in two. "You just ... you talk about it like it makes _sense_."

"It makes sense to me," Draco answered. "You just didn't grow up with.... well, _anything_. Of course you can't understand." Harry looked away, but Draco let go of his hand to wrap an arm tightly around him. "We have this year," Draco said intently, "and most of next, probably. Stay." 

"I'm with you," Harry replied. 

"Just ... I couldn't bear to lose you in advance." 

Harry didn't answer, but he wrapped an arm around Draco as well. It made going down the spiral staircase awkward and slow, but they stayed like that anyway. By the third flight, they had the rhythm of it. 

Around the corner from the entrance to Slytherin, they stopped.

"You should put your cloak on." 

"I don't want to hide." 

"I don't want to be stopped," Draco answered fiercely. "Cloak, Harry. Be a bold Gryffindor in the morning." 

Hiding stung in the aftermath of what Draco had said, but Harry saw the sense of it. He told himself he would leave without it, whatever Draco said then, and he pulled his cloak out of his school bag and swung it on. Draco winced as he vanished. 

"Stay close," Draco whispered. "I'll take my time with doors." 

 

Harry had been in the Slytherin common room before, but only once when the school year was in full swing. It looked less gloomy when full of students, some of whom had taken off their scholars' robes to reveal more colorful clothing. Slytherins studying and socializing looked a lot like Gryffindors studying and socializing. Harry would have said that he expected that, but it turned out to surprise him. He was also surprised when Draco went straight to the seventh-year boys' dormitory. Harry had thought Draco might have a different room as Head Boy, but he was still in the same one as last year. The seventh-years' room was a lot more spacious with Crabbe and Goyle gone. Blaise looked up from studying as they crossed the room. 

"You're back."

"Shouldn't I be?" Draco said, pausing with the door to his room open. Harry edged past him and inside.

"Yes, but Theo will be disappointed. He was hoping for more scandal."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Do." 

Draco stepped in, clicking the door shut behind him, and Harry immediately pressed him up against it. They kissed hungrily. 

"Merlin, I thought I'd never get you alone."

"I just thought Ron--"

"Yes, yes, while the iron is hot, and all that, so no need for it now!" 

"Right." Harry went back to kissing him. Draco moaned into his mouth, and his body pressed forward, hard against Harry's. He wrapped a leg behind Harry, getting it up to his thighs, and Harry tried to pull him up and forward by his arse, and they stumbled, and nearly fell. 

"All right in there?" Blaise called. 

They both froze.

"Fine." 

"Silencing charm!" Harry exclaimed at whisper, and they both cast one, with laughs held in so tightly that they were practically giggles. 

"I can't believe that!" Harry exclaimed. "We're so careful coming in, and then we do an idiotic thing like that."

"Lust is known for degrading the mental process." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "No more of that." 

"Oh?" Draco asked innocently. "Is there something you would rather?"

Harry considered. He thought he was expected to just return to kisses, but instead he stepped back. "Take your clothes off," he suggested.

"Just like that?"

"I know you don't mind attention."

Draco licked his lips. "Especially yours." 

"Right. So take your clothes off. I want to watch."

Laughing uneasily, Draco lifted his hands to the collar of his robes. "You are far too confident for someone with so little experience." 

"Uh-huh," Harry agreed, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms. "If you don't like the idea, you'll say so, right?"

Draco undid the top fastener on his robes and straightened. "Oh, I don't think I mind." His fingers moved deftly down hidden hooks, making his robes gap over shirt and tie. There was nothing particularly special about either, to Muggle sensibilities, but they were sexy by virtue of usually being concealed.

"Good," Harry said, and Draco gave him a little smile as his robe opened entirely, showing a lower garment that was wider and looser than Muggle dress trousers, but not quite out of acceptable range for a man. 

"What next?" Draco challenged, and Harry thought for a moment. "Boots," he said, "and socks." As he had expected, Draco looked even sexier barefoot, with his toes sinking into the plush green carpet. "Tie, next." 

Draco undid his tie with great deliberation, running his fingers sensually down the length of silk at the end of every untraced loop, so that Harry's mouth went dry and he had to suck his lips in to moisten them. With a smug look, Draco strolled forward, the length of cloth stretched between his hands. Harry waited. When Draco cast the loop of silk over his head and behind his neck, and then used it to draw him into a kiss, Harry all but melted. 

"You are not in control here," Draco said intently, as he raised reddened lips from the encounter. 

"Didn't think I was," Harry confessed. 

Draco raised his head. "Just to be clear," he said, and walked away again, with enough of a sashay that Harry would have thought it stupid in any other context. In private, he was enthralled. 

By the bed, Draco turned. "Shirt next?" he asked. "Or bottoms?"

"That," Harry said. "The trouser-ish things." The thought of seeing Draco in just his shirt was almost unbearably hot. 

With a smirk, Draco unbuttoned the garment and let it fall. Rather than kicking it away, he stepped to the side, clear of the fallen fabric. Harry bit his lip. Draco was half-hard, his swollen prick not at full length, but rising forward enough to part the placket of his shirt. 

"Oh, you're gorgeous," Harry said, quite without meaning to. 

"Hmph. Was that addressed to me or to my cock?" 

"Both, really," Harry admitted easily. "It is shown off nicely like that."

"Why, Harry!" Draco said slyly, sliding his hands down to undo the lowest button of his shirt. "I do believe you're as shameless as I am." 

Harry laughed, though paradoxically, he could feel himself blushing. "Shame is just fear," he said. 

"Well, then," Draco said, undoing another button. He was now showing a wedge of skin from his sternum down. "You won't mind touching yourself while you watch?"

In answer, Harry brought his hand to the front of his robes and squeezed the sides of his erection.

"Oh no," Draco scolded. "I want to see." 

Harry shook his head. "No. Not until you're naked and lying on that bed." 

With a strange, high sound, Draco nodded. He undid the last front button, and then his cuffs, and dropped his shirt carelessly to the floor. With a showy arch of his body, he pulled himself up onto the bed, and then squirmed back until he could reach a pillow and pull it under his head. 

"I'm here," he said, his voice suddenly very small. 

Harry smiled and strolled forward. "Don't sound like that," he said. "You're gorgeous, and you know it." 

"It just feels..... You're still dressed."

"Not for long," Harry answered, dropping his robes. He was wearing an old T-shirt, which was unfortunate; if he'd been planning for this, he would have worn the green silk. Still, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his swollen cock, sliding his hand along it as Draco had wanted. Draco stared, his eyes wide. "I just wanted a little time to feel all of how much I want you. Touch is so fast."

Draco whined, a noise so undignified that it must have been beyond his control. "Come here," he said. "Please?"

"Yeah?" Harry asked, stepping up until his knees bumped into the duvet. 

"Touch," Draco said. "Now. Fast is okay."

Harry crawled over him. "Love that," he said fiercely. 

"What?"

"When you stop speaking perfectly."

Draco laughed and pulled him down. Suddenly, no amount of touch was enough. Harry had to run his hands over every inch of Draco that he could reach, and Draco looped a leg over Harry to pull him close. They rubbed together in a frantic rut, Harry touching Draco's back, Draco's hair, and feeling Draco's teeth on his shoulder as another embrace. Draco lifted his head to cry out, and the drag of skin on skin was suddenly slicker. Harry pumped against Draco's suddenly collapsed weight. 

"So hot," he whispered, and Draco raised his head to look into his eyes, and suddenly Harry was coming as well, losing all detail behind the blinding white lightning in his head. 

 

"Harry?" 

"Mm?"

The tingle of a cleaning spell wasn't quite enough to make him lift his head. He did open his eyes. 

"You're not going to fall asleep on me, are you?"

"Just resting," Harry claimed. He hadn't done anything to get ready for bed, after all, except for discarding his clothes -- well, some of them. He curled up to struggle out of his t-shirt. "Wow. I'd planned on something a little more...."

"Artful?" Draco suggested. 

"Something like that."

"Mm." Draco stretched back, the twist of his arm and the grace of his final pose demonstrating 'artful'. " _That_ is what second rounds are for."

 


	19. Known and Hidden Faces

 

"Oh," Harry said, pulling Draco a little closer and rubbing his face against Draco's neck. "I've missed this."

"Waking up hours before breakfast?"

"Waking up with you. Those few days this summer weren't nearly enough."

"I'd like it better if you could stay," Draco returned wistfully, following the comment with a kiss. 

"I probably won't get in much trouble--"

"No!" Draco let out a quick breath. "Don't let her catch you. I really want to do this again." 

"Okay." 

Despite that resolve, washing and dressing were slowed by looks and touches and kisses and promises of "later." When Draco, who had insisted on going first, opened the door to the larger seventh-year Slytherin boys' dormitory, the occupants were still in bed. 

"Harry?" Blaise said, looking out groggily from his bed. "What are you doing in-- Never mind. Don't answer that. Stupid question." 

From the other bed, Theodore Nott exploded to his feet, grabbed his dressing gown and something from his bedside table, and stormed from the room. 

"He doesn't like you much," Blaise commented. "Do be careful." He sank back down to his pillow. "And quiet, please."

"Got that, thanks," Harry said, crossing the room to the next door.

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed, belatedly darting after him, and Harry, who had opened the door, turned. 

"GOT you!"

A hand grabbed his shoulder roughly, and shoved something cold past his collar. Harry was already shouting out a disarming spell as he turned. A heavy body flew back, crashing into one of the massive common room sofas and dropping to the floor with a thump. Inside Harry's shirt, the cold thing was heavy and hard, but it didn't hurt. Susara moved across his neck, apparently unharmed. Every source of fire in the room flared into life at once -- Draco's doing, Harry thought -- blinding them all. 

Slowly, Harry focused through the brightness. Theodore Nott had raised himself to his elbows and was staring at Harry in horror. To the sides, Harry was aware of a few younger Slytherins, all staying very still. 

Harry let out a long breath. Draco, his wand out and fixed on Nott, stepped forward. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, with only a twist of his chin to indicate he was speaking to Harry.

"I seem to be." Harry opened his robes and undid a few buttons on his shirt. 

" _Master_?" Susara asked. 

" _Upper arm_ ," Harry ordered, not caring who was listening. " _Stay still_." He didn't want her near the unknown object, which had fallen to his waist. By reaching inside with one hand, lifting the shirt fabric at the back with the other, and twisting sideways, he managed to catch the hard thing. It felt smooth and round in his hand. He pulled it out, and found himself looking at a marble -- a large shooter, with a coiling black snake inside nearly clear glass. 

"Was I supposed to scream?" he asked, holding it out to Nott. "I'm not afraid of snakes, you know."

Nott's eyes widened even further. Rather than take the thing, he crab-walked back toward the wall. Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said, and tucked the marble into his school bag. 

"Perhaps I should accompany you," Draco said smoothly. 

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We should probably talk."

 

They left Slytherin without further incident, and Draco set a fast pace down a bewildering tangle of corridors. Harry suspected he was avoiding predictable paths to discourage anyone who might try to follow them. 

"Where are we going?" he asked, after the third turn.

"Where do you think?"

"Well, we should have someone look at that marble."

"'Someone' being?" 

"I was thinking of Professor Hecksban."

Draco shook his head. "No. Severus. We already know you can trust him--"

"But I was in Slytherin!" 

"Which we know he doesn't mind. We just need some excuse that he can pretend to believe." 

"I came to fetch you for a romantic sunrise stroll?"

Draco sniffed. "As if you would."

"I might, if I'd never gone to sleep."

Draco laughed. "All right, then!" 

 

Snape wrenched the door open and glared out at them. His scowl faltered with surprise, and reformed into a more reserved scorn. 

"The little princes, I see. Does your arrival at this hour indicate a crisis, or merely your usual lack of consideration?"

"I'm not actually sure if it's a crisis--"

"What Harry means, sir," Draco said crisply, "is that we require your expertise to evaluate the risk posed by an attack." 

"Right," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "What he said."

For a moment, Snape just pinched the bridge of his nose. "Very well," he said finally. "Come inside. Sit on the sofa, and do _not_ touch anything."

The warning seemed excessive -- after all, they had both been here before -- until Harry was inside the room and realized that Snape had been marking. Piles of essays were spread over the table in front of the sofa, and the smaller table between the sofa and the chair, some with sealed potion samples beside them. Snape firecalled the kitchen for more tea and took a swallow from his own cup before carrying it with him to the chair. "Please explain," he said. 

Harry and Draco looked at each other. "Well," Harry said, "I'd gone down to Slytherin early to fetch Draco--"

Snape looked heavenward. "Of course you had." 

"Well, Parvati says sunrise over the lake is very romantic--"

"The lake is _west_ of here, Potter."

"Exactly. So you need time to walk around it." 

Snape snorted. It wasn't a laugh, exactly, but from him, it was nearly as good. "Pray continue, Potter. You were, for whatever no doubt _entirely_ innocent reason, in Slytherin at some ungodly hour of the morning. What happened?"

"Nott shoved something down my shirt."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "Something?" he repeated mockingly. "Ice? Caterpillars? Sickles?"

Harry grinned. "A marble." He fished the item out of his bag. "And it didn't do anything to me, but he seemed surprised by that." 

Snape did not take the offered item. Instead, he drew his wand and began to cast spells at it. Harry recognized two of the incantations as ones they had learned in Cursebreaking. After another dozen of these, Snape sat back, puzzled. "Set it on the table," he instructed. His next spell made the marble glow orange, and he let out a little "ah" of satisfaction. Picking up the marble, he looked at it for a moment, tossed it in the air, and caught it. 

"It is not actually cursed," he said. "And, in this place, it does nothing." 

"Excuse me?" Harry asked.

"Three years ago, that would not have been the case."

"Oh!" Harry said. He was well aware of what magical items no longer worked at Hogwarts. "It's a Portkey! Right?" 

"Exactly. It is not common knowledge that they are now nullified by extensions to the magic that prevents Apparation. Theodore was expecting you to vanish from Slytherin and reappear in some other place -- no doubt one that he believed you could not escape from."

"Shouldn't it be common knowledge, Severus?" Draco objected. "My flight to Hogwarts was related in some detail at this summer's trial." 

Snape nodded. "Your reasoning, however, was never stated. I expect that the Dark Lord has deduced that had a Portkey been able to bring you into Hogwarts, you would have found some way to anchor the device closer to your destination. It seems likely, therefore, that this scheme is of Mr. Nott's own devising -- or that of one of his less intelligent relatives."

Harry nodded at the marble. "Would you like to keep it?"

"Yes," Snape said, with a sharp nod. He opened a drawer in the nearby table and dropped the marble into it, just as a House Elf appeared with a tea service. The elf looked at the parchment-strewn surfaces around it, and then at its tray. Moving the tray to one hand, he snapped his fingers, summoning a table just large enough for the tray and a few well-positioned saucers. With a bow and a squeaked 'your tea, sirs!" he vanished, leaving the tea service behind.

"You might as well sit," Snape said. "I've seen little enough of you since school started, Draco."

"I've been busy--"

"Yes, yes. And when you come this way it is to visit those horrid creatures--"

"They're sweet," Harry broke in. "It just takes about four weeks...." 

"Four weeks that I do not have," Snape said testily. "There are enough dangers to encountering my former associates without depriving myself of my best weapons."

"Are you, er, staying in touch with them, sir?" Harry asked, after a sip of the tea. "Or do you mean encounters by chance?"

Snape acknowledged the worth of the question with a nod. "Some of each. Draco is certainly aware that I remain in contact with his mother. I have ceased to fear a direct threat from that quarter, but the first meetings were a gamble. One of my suppliers I had to drop completely after he 'accidentally' mispackaged an explosive combination of potions components." 

"Was there collateral damage?" Draco asked dryly. 

"Fortunately, I had been unable to sleep, and so unpacked the order before the Runespoor venom had time to drip through the Peryton feathers to the Fairy floss, so it was merely some sickness from the residue of the counteracted venom."

 

Harry ended up going straight from Snape's rooms to the Great Hall, and arriving at breakfast too late to be inconspicuous. Deciding he might as well face the music, Harry acknowledged his beckoning roommates and walked over to sit with them. 

"Have a pleasant night?" Seamus asked jovially. 

Harry pretended not to notice Hermione's glare. "Brilliant, thanks," he answered blandly. Seamus didn't need to be so loud about it. "Though I woke up far too early. And you?" 

"About the same as usual." Seamus raised his eyebrows, but his voice dropped. "And I'd have said you woke up late."

"Oh, no," Harry replied blithely. His stories might as well match. "I got up very early, and decided to invite Draco for a sunrise walk around the lake." 

Hermione's brow wrinkled. Glancing around, Harry found he was getting some strange looks from his housemates. Snape had just assumed he was lying, but the Gryffindors seemed to be struggling with that. 

"I'm not sure I believe that," Hermione said finally. Harry shrugged. 

"Believe what you will." 

Anxiously, she twisted her napkin in her hands. "Harry, I really think--" 

She was interrupted by the headmaster getting to his feet and tapping on his juice glass for silence. 

"Good morning, everyone. I will be repeating this announcement at dinner, but as most of you who expressed an interest are here now, I see no reason to wait. In answer to repeated requests for mixed-house space, the room next to the library is now available for socialization." 

Harry found himself starting to grin. Parvati reached across the table to catch his hand in a tight squeeze. Students who had been unaware of the request began to murmur to each other. 

"It will be open from the end of lessons until dinner every weekday," Dumbledore continued, and Harry watched Parvati frown as if he was looking into some sort of magical carnival mirror. Was that all? "To prevent problems, staff members have agreed to supervise." 

Harry made a face at Parvati, who answered with a little shrug. He looked over her shoulder and across the room at Draco, who was examining his nails with a bland expression on his face. Harry sighed. Dumbledore's version of the room wouldn't do at all. 

Before the whispers could resolve, they were interrupted by the arrival of the morning post. Owls swooped in with their burdens, and the previous discussion was put on hold as Harry and Hermione read the _Sun_ over Dean's shoulder. 

 

After breakfast, Harry hoped he would be able to escape while Hermione scoured the _Prophet_ for news. He looked at Ron, who gave him a nod, and they got to their feet and waved a quick goodbye to anyone who was looking. Across the room, Draco stood also, and preceded them to the door. 

At first, he thought it would work. Their path was even with the staff table before Harry heard footsteps behind them. In the doorway to the Entrance Hall, Hermione caught at his arm. 

"Don't think you're getting away that easily!" she chided as they moved out of sight of the Great Hall. Draco was waiting, leaning against the railing of the grand staircase. "You didn't come back to Gryffindor after practice last night, and I don't believe you've been there yet."

"And if I wasn't?" 

"Harry, you are not allowed to stay out all night! I'm not supposed to let you. I should be going to Professor McGonagall right now!" 

"Wrong tack," Draco advised, in an amused voice, as he strolled over. "And he _would_ have been around, if Theo hadn't attacked him. That meant going to Professor Snape, and it all got rather out of hand." He nodded at Ron. "Good morning, Weasley. Are you ready for our expedition?" 

Hermione rubbed her forehead. "Ron?" she asked. People were starting to emerge from the Great Hall now. 

"I invited him to meet the Quiris," Draco said smoothly. 

"Oh!" Hermione rocked up on her toes, her eyes widening. "Are they here?" 

A group of passing Hufflepuffs shot them surreptitious glances as Draco rolled his eyes. "Harry! I am taking care of creatures that _guarantee_ I am not performing any Dark Arts. _Why_ are you not mentioning this to your housemates?"

"Had you wanted me to?"

"Yes." 

Harry mimicked Draco's eye roll. "Then _tell_ me," he said. Some lower-year Slytherins were approaching, which reminded him of Draco's analysis of how their houses determined who was in charge. " _You're_ the Slytherin. You can play with indirect messages all you want, but if you want something from me, _say_ so." 

"I thought it was obvious--"

"I've just been thinking what a nuisance it is."

The Slytherins had moved on. With a huff, Draco turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger," he said politely. "Would you like to accompany us to see the Quiris?"

"Please!" Hermione said, her voice quick with eagerness. "I never did get to meet one." 

The four of them walked down to the dungeons together, getting a few strange looks in passing. The Quiris, Harry discovered, really were housed quite close to Professor Snape's private apartments, but when they entered the room, he could see sunlight outlining the pale fur of one of the leggy creatures. 

He had forgotten how sweet they were. He had known that would be true, but still, it took all the will he had not to join Hermione and Ron in rushing to pet them. Ron's cry of delight, he noted carefully, was only slightly more restrained than Hermione's. 

Draco lingered at his elbow. "Something I should know about?" he whispered, his eyes narrowing. 

"No," Harry said deliberately. "I'm just _trying_." _Cheefi_ , he remembered, looking at the paler Quiri. He desperately wanted to stroke his soft fur, as Hermione was currently doing. "Why is there sunlight?" he asked, working at focusing on something else.

Sighing, Draco took Harry's hand. "Because this room is magically connected to one on the second floor," he said. "Now let it go. Come." He pulled Harry towards the Quiris, and Harry went. Cheefi's fur was as soft as he remembered. Hermione released a soft breath as the nearly-white Quiri swung onto Harry's lap, and Harry rubbed his face against his mane. 

"I'm so glad, Harry," she said. "I was worried when you held back." 

"I was just seeing if I could," Harry explained again, although it seemed rather silly now, with Cheefi chittering at him and grooming his hair. 

"Why?"

"Because this is _Harry_ ," Draco answered sardonically, perching on the arm of nearby chair. "He has an inherent need to do everything in the most difficult manner possible." 

"I don't like things messing with my mind, that's all." Harry couldn't get upset about it, at the moment, but he still knew that was what it was.

"Yet you drink," Hermione prodded. 

Harry thought about that. She had a point, really. "It messes more with my body," he said finally, " _when_ I do, which really isn't often. And my mood, I guess, but it doesn't make me want to do things that I wouldn't normally want to do." 

"Do the Quiris?"

"Yes. When I first met Tuktuk, I wanted to confess to Dumbledore, and do you remember what Draco said to Professor Horsyr, that time?"

"Hm," Draco said thoughtfully. "So you _normally_ wanted to lie down with your head in my lap, did you?"

Harry blinked. He vaguely remembered that, in the manner of a blurry photograph, from the night before Draco had left for Easter. "Maybe?" he hazarded. "Okay, so that's a point for her, but I also wouldn't want to drink that much again. Ever." 

"When was this?" Ron looked confused. Harry hadn't realized he was listening.

"A few hours before you found me hurling in the loo." 

"Ah." Ron's hand moved slowly over Tuktuk's fur. "Last spring." 

"Yeah." 

"Seamus hasn't looked worried about you, this year." Ron frowned. "Except for last night." 

Harry suddenly remembered how loud Seamus had been at breakfast. "That was it! He was checking if I was hung over." 

"What?" Draco asked, confused. Cheefi moved to him, climbing up on one shoulder and wrapping his tail across his neck to the other one. 

"Seamus. He greeted me _very_ loudly this morning. I'd thought he was just putting me on the spot, but he was probably just seeing if I'd wince. Afterwards, he was okay."

"Were you drinking? After I left, I mean?" Ron winced at the sound of his own words. 

" _Ronald!_ " Hermione reproved. 

"No," Harry answered, as if she hadn't spoken. 

"You told me you hadn't seen him!" Hermione continued.

Ron reddened. "Hadn't wanted to admit that I'd voluntarily spent an hour in the same room as Malfoy. Anyway, it had been a while by the time I got back." 

It had been more like three hours, as Harry remembered it, but he supposed Ron was creating some extra time afterwards by making their visit shorter. Hermione sat back with a dissatisfied huff. Harry looked over at Draco, and found him studying Ron. Perhaps he hadn't realized that Harry wasn't the only Gryffindor who could lie to his friends. "Hermione," Harry said, "just let it go, all right?" 

"You were out all night!" 

"And if I was, what of it?" Harry returned. "That would just be ventures into sex. I have the impression you started that earlier than I did."

Ron's face was burning by now. "We never did that much," he claimed. 

Hermione sighed. "We did stay out together," she admitted, "but you scolded me for it." 

"I scolded you for being _missing_ so often." 

"And this time _you_ were missing!"

"For one night! And I'm not a prefect." 

"I don't think it was a problem for you because I was a _prefect_. It was a problem for you because you needed me."

"And did you _need_ me, last night?" 

Hermione's shoulders slumped forward. "I suppose not. I do worry about you, though, and you can't tell me I shouldn't." 

"You shouldn't! And believe me, I wouldn't have said _anything_ last year, if you hadn't been a prefect." 

At Harry's angry claim, Cheefi swung down from Draco's shoulder and took up a spot between them, patting first Hermione's face and then Harry's. Hermione giggled. 

"I guess he doesn't want us to fight," Harry said. 

"Mm. And I'm starting to see what you mean about them affecting your mind." 

"You get acclimated to it," Draco volunteered, coming down to join them on the floor. "Though Frieda's tendency to want everyone to hug and make up makes a little more sense to me now." 

Harry hadn't heard Draco call Horsyr "Frieda" before, but he supposed he would, since they had interacted after school. She was definitely the sort of person who would make the offer as soon as she was no longer his professor. Draco was looking almost anxiously between him and Hermione. "Is there anything it might be helpful to ask now?" he asked. "While you can't get too upset?"

Harry couldn't think of anything, really, or at least not anything fair. Hermione nodded. 

"Yes. Harry, why were you talking about Gargoyle dust?" 

Draco's attention shot to him like tacks to a magnet. Harry crossed his arms over his chest. He hadn't realized that Hermione was still worried about that. "I can't tell you." 

"Harry...."

"I can tell you that I have never used it, and never _considered_ using it. It was just something I looked up." 

"That doesn't make sense," she complained. He supposed he could see her point. He didn't tend to research potions components on a whim. 

Draco, however, cocked his head to the side, rather in the way that Cheefi was doing. "It could," he offered.

"How?"

"If he knew someone who was already using it." Draco sneered slightly. "I might, perhaps, know who." 

Harry shrugged, letting his arms loosen. "You might."

Hermione bit her lip. "If you know someone who's doing that, Draco, you need to tell their head of house." 

" _If_ it's a student," Harry argued. He was pleased to discover that he could be misleading about this, despite having a hand buried in Cheefi's long mane. Perhaps it was because he was confident that he was right to protect Blaise. 

"Point," Ron contributed cheerfully. "It could be one of my brothers." 

"Oh, don't make guesses!" Harry objected

"Or...." Ron's face lit up. "Snape! He'd be able to get that with no problem, I bet!" 

"Especially not guesses that will have you strung up by your thumbs," Draco said dryly. He sighed. "Look at it this way, Hermione -- If _you_ were taking an illegal potion--"

"I wouldn't!" Despite Cheefi in her lap, Hermione managed to sound anxious. 

"As in Defense last year, let us _postulate_ \--"

"Turn it around," Harry interrupted. "Hermione. If _I_ was taking an illegal potion, but I wasn't in substantial danger, and I wasn't hurting anyone, would you tell Professor McGonagall?" 

She hesitated. "Yes," she said finally, the word coming out quick and uncertain.

"You didn't tell about the drinking." 

She frowned. "I made you stop." 

"No." He shook his head. "When you were around, you made me keep it reasonable. And you argued with me. But you didn't _tell_." 

"But, Harry, you were in so much trouble--"

"I'm not saying I disagree. Quite the opposite actually." He reached out to touch Cheefi again, and she chirped at him. "Hermione. I looked it up because I was _worried_ , okay? If it's getting dangerous, and I'm in a position to see that, I'll do something." 

"There is, however, some harm," Draco pointed out, as if they were discussing some abstract issue in a lesson. "Gargoyles are rare, and if the dust was irresponsibly harvested, the user may be contributing to their decline." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "And we should all be vegetarians, I suppose. I won't worry about that for other people." 

"Not to mention that it's cheating!" Hermione objected. "If the person is a student, I mean."

Draco shrugged. "If they can 'cheat' as well outside of Hogwarts as in it -- that is, if the person can live up to the unreasonable expectations that they have created -- I don't see that it matters." 

"That's because you're a Slytherin," Ron interjected. 

"Yes. And what my house counts is results, not means." 

"Anyway," Harry said, "I think we've talked that into the ground." 

"Probably." Draco looked at Hermione. "Anything else?"

"Do you really like me?" 

Draco's face softened with a smile. "Yes, Hermione. I really like you."

"I feel sort of excluded," she confessed. 

Draco nodded. "You are the most likely to decide that you can't let us break rules, so we haven't wanted to let you see any place where we meet -- there are so few of them. Weasley was only invited the once. Perhaps you could join us for studying, some days? Now that there is a public space." 

She sighed. "That won't be very useful, will it? With those hours." 

Harry held back a grin. If she could already see that, they might be able to bring her in to the real Uncommon Room after not too long. "Better than nothing," he offered, with all the lightness of insincerity.

 

Harry was pleased, if not surprised, that Millicent caught him on the way out of lunch. 

"Are you going upstairs?" she asked, keeping the question vague, although no one appeared to be in earshot. 

"Yeah," Harry answered. "Meet me?" 

"I'll be there in a few," she answered, and they parted as a group of students emerged from the Great Hall. 

Harry made his way up to the library, and from there, around the castle the long way to the mirror. He was pleased, now that he thought about it, to realize that there were three different routes to the mirror from the library. It would be easy for people to avoid an obvious flow towards the room, even if they were coming from the official mixed-house space. When he reached his destination, Millicent was already there, frowning at the cushions.

"Using the place without me, Potter?" she asked. 

He rolled his eyes. "I needed to get Ron and Draco together for a talk on short notice. Draco insisted on the cushions when I told him what state the place was in. It wasn't opening night for the Uncommon Room."

Relaxing, she nodded. "And when will that be?"

"I'm not sure. I think we should give the official mixed-house space a week first."

Millicent frowned around at the space. "So, a week from today?"

"Maybe not. We open the Quidditch season against Ravenclaw on Saturday, and the Patil twins have been major supporters of mixed house space and are people I'd like to bring in on the first round. That might make it awkward. The following Friday, perhaps? Feelings should have settled by then." 

Millicent nodded. "That makes sense. So what's next?"

"Cleaning, I think, and then some charms to keep away the bugs and such, and then sometime during this week I should bring Draco here to do some stone-shaping and maybe look at the lights." 

"Couldn't your Ravenclaw do it?"

Harry opened his mouth to say no, you couldn't invite someone somewhere and expect them to work on it, but then he looked at Millicent, and thought how she was talking about this room as theirs. "That's a wonderful idea," he said, just as he decided it was. "Actually, why don't we make it part of the opening? Everyone can talk about how to fix the light stripe."

"Won't that be sort of like a class?"

"It will give people something to do." 

Slowly, Millicent's confused look brightened. She straightened. "Yeah. Good thought. It's bound to be awkward at first." 

"Well, it was _your_ thought," Harry said generously. "Don't forget that." 

"Whatever you say, Potter," she answered, rolling her eyes. 

"Potter?" he asked. "Why am I suddenly _Potter_?" 

She grinned. "No big reason. Don't read too much into it, _Harry._ " She paused in sweeping her wand up and down the wall. "It may be hearing it a lot; you were the talk of the table at breakfast."

"Oh, really?"

"Really. There are a half-dozen people who say they saw you leaving Slytherin this morning." Her small eyes glittered. "Is it true that you can nullify Portkeys?" 

"Nulli-- Oh."

His confusion was enough of an answer. She snorted. "I gather Nott just messed it up, then? Forgot an activation?"

Harry shrugged. "Oh, it was an active Portkey, all right. But, really, I'm just protected against them." That little exaggeration, he thought, might give him an edge. 

"Being believed to be able to disable them might serve you better," Millicent argued. "A number of people are saying we just need to tolerate you, for now."

"Oh?" Harry asked. 

"Well, it wouldn't do to kill you in the school -- not that many people think they could, after Lestrange. Want me to hint that you've confirmed it to me?"

Harry had never thought of Millicent as the hinting type, but he supposed she was a Slytherin. "Okay," he said. "Thanks." 

They cast dusting spells on every section of the entry and meeting space, and sent the dust deep into the piled rocks that filled the passageway beyond. Afterwards, Harry tried conjured water and a scrubbing spell on an area of the wall. 

"Look!" 

Millicent turned. "Oh!" she said. She stepped forward to touch the wall. "Shiny." 

"Cut flint. And look at how it's set in lines. This was more than a secret passage." 

Millicent laughed. "Yeah. People don't usually decorate those." 

"I suppose it would reflect the light better." 

She turned around. "A secret meeting chamber?" 

"Maybe we'll find other clues." 

They continued on, more eagerly than before, cleaning sections of wall until the floor was slick with water and they had to vanish it or get their socks wet. 

"I'm bored," Millicent declared, when they were just about half-way done with the first wall. "Discover something else." 

"I can't really turn it on and off like that," Harry replied, grinning at her. "How about some other entertainment?"

"Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral?" 

"No. Tell me about Linnet's friend Gilbert." 

For at least half a minute, they worked in silence. Then: 

"What do you want to know?"

"Well, she seems to trust him, but Draco didn't want him along for yesterday's conference. I don't even know who he is, and I'm just taking Draco's word on her. I want details." 

"Ah." Her mouth twisted in a wry grin as she glanced over at him. "You're interested in politics." 

"What else?"

"Well, you may have thought he was cute." She laughed harshly. "And I wouldn't have touched that with a barge pole."

"Honestly, I have no idea what he looks like. Not to mention that I'm happy with -- no, completely thrilled by -- Draco." 

"All right, then." She took a moment to compose her thoughts, sending off an _aguamenti_ at a new stretch of wall. "His family is pureblood and well off -- at a level with Malfoy's, although they didn't know each other before school for some reason."

"Maybe his family are more, um ... open-minded?"

"No, though that is the usual reason for that sort of thing. That's why he didn't know Linnet, I take it. But as a first year, when kids were being petrified, Gilbert was all for something taking out the Mudbloods, so he had to have picked that up at home. It was just at the beginning of last year -- or, no, I guess after the Halloween massacre -- that he suddenly started indirect criticisms of the Dark Lord."

"Criticisms?"

"They're mostly kind of flippant, offhand comments, but there's feeling behind them. During the spring, he started spending time with Linnet. They're not involved; I think it was more that he was old enough to notice a girl as a person, and they really are the most compatible Slytherins of their year." She looked over at him. "Was that what you wanted to know?" 

"Pretty much." Harry looked at the latest stretch of cleaned wall, with its darkly glittering lines above and below the unlit strip of white, and then past it, to the dirt-encrusted rock beyond. "I think that's enough for the day. About time for your glamour, isn't it?"

Millicent hesitated. "My timer hasn't gone off yet, so it's at least another half-hour."

"Okay. That should be enough time for a lesson."

"You want me to try it myself?"

"No, not that. Let's start with something simpler." Harry pointed at Millicent's feet. "How about your shoes?"

Millicent lifted the toe of one shoe and rocked it back and forth. "My shoes?"

"Yeah. Try changing the look of them."

"You mean -- make them shinier, or something?"

"Make them _appear_ shinier," Harry corrected. "Remember, this isn't Transfiguration. You're just fooling people about how they look." 

He was proud of that description. It had taken him several days of mulling over the matter to think of it. Surely the idea of deception would appeal to a Slytherin? Indeed, a sly smile was spreading slowly across Millicent's face. 

"Hadn't thought of it that way," she muttered. With a decisive nod, she pointed her wand at her shoes, but then hesitated. "Maybe I should take them off first." 

"It is _not transfiguration_. You cannot hurt yourself with a glamour." 

"Yeah, but what if I cast the wrong thing?" Millicent sat down and untied one shoe, which she pulled off and set in front of her. 

"If you like," Harry said, " _this_ time." 

By the time Millicent's alarm spell activated, she had managed to make her oversized woman's shoe look more a man's blunt-toed work shoe. The glamour wavered a little when she moved it, but that could wait a few lessons, Harry decided. 

"You could just buy a pair of those, you know," Harry said, as she removed the glamour. 

"Because my feet are big enough?" 

"And they'd probably be more comfortable. And it would distract from other changes. And you might as well get used to them." 

Millicent made a face. "But I'm in a room with Pansy and Daphne, and they notice _everything_." 

"Let them notice that you're changing your style, then." 

 

Afterwards, he walked her down to Slytherin. Draco insisted on spending Sunday afternoons available to his house, but that didn't mean they couldn't run into each other. Instead of Draco, however, they overtook the same two Slytherin first-years that Harry kept seeing. 

"Hello, Gentian," he said, nodding a greeting.

Millicent snorted. "Making friends with the firsties, Harry?"

"I keep running into these two," Harry said, with a wink for Gentian. He held out his hand to the boy. "But I don't know your name, yet. I'm Harry." 

The boy kept his arms folded over his chest. "I'm not supposed to associate with mixed-bloods." 

Harry froze. 

"Ogden!" Gentian exclaimed, shocked. 

"Well, I'm not! And he's Harry Potter, too!" 

"Oh, dear Merlin!" Millicent exclaimed. "Look, frogspawn, he's _Harry Potter_. You ought to be frigging _honored_." 

"Oh, don't!" Harry exclaimed. "I hate that." Looking at Ogden's haughty sulk was giving him a strange feeling of being out of his own body. It took him a moment to turn the impression into a thought. The boy looked everything and nothing like first-year Draco Malfoy, making him seem too small and far down. The connection lent Harry some empathy. "Voldemort's a mixed-blood, you know."

_"What?"_

"He had a Muggle father. He told me about it, when I was bound to the man's gravestone -- how his Muggle father had abandoned his pregnant mother, but now his bones would serve him." 

Millicent covered her surprise with a rough guffaw. "Issues, you think?" she choked out.

"Well, that was clear anyway, wasn't it?" Harry replied. Pushing away from the wall, he raised a hand in farewell. "Good to see you again, Gentian. Glad to have met you, Ogden. Catch you later, Mill." 

Two voices chorused goodbyes as he walked away. 

 

"Um, Harry?" 

The speaker was Leslie Chase, a fifth-year Gryffindor boy. Harry didn't think the kid had spoken a dozen words to him since the end of the Tri-Wizard tournament. Pushing down his annoyance at being interrupted in a conversation with Cornelia about her new position, he mustered a smile. After all, wasn't this the sort of situation where Draco and Dumbledore both advised him to use charm? And really, it wasn't difficult to summon a smile after a 230-50 win in the first game of the season. 

"Hi, Les," he said. "What's up?" 

Leslie practically glowed at the (correct) use of his nickname. "I, um, just wanted to say what a spectacular catch that was."

"Thanks," Harry said. For once, he was confident that it _had_ been spectacular. He'd used a technique described in _Patrick's Pitch Pointers_ , a largely incoherent feature in _Quidditch Review_. There were people who claimed that _Patrick's Pitch Pointers_ was an extended hoax meant to discover how long a respected Quidditch publication would pay for nonsensical gibberish written by a famous ex-pro Seeker. Harry was of the camp that that thought Patrick had taken a Bludger too many to the head, but if you could manage to figure out what he was trying to describe, the advice was always good. 

"It's great to go in with a leading score, too," he said generously. "Did you see that bit where Cornelia forced Cecilius off course, and Ginny was able to intercept the Quaffle? 

"Yes!" Leslie said enthusiastically, rocking up on his toes. "And she passed to Lindsey, who scored, and then Jason intercepted the throw from their Keeper, and Ginny guarded him, and we scored again? That was brilliant!" 

"See, this is what I mean," Cornelia said earnestly, picking up her earlier argument. "I _knew_ how Cecilius would react because of watching him last year. Keeper is a great position for learning about people."

"But if we rotate people into the Keeper's slot during practice," Ginny objected, "they'd just be learning about us." 

"You can't do it during games!" Leslie exclaimed.

"No, of course not," Harry agreed, shooting him a smile. "We covered that earlier; you're joining an argument in progress. However," he said to his present team members, "Professor Dumbledore approved the idea of pickup Quidditch -- _in theory_ \-- last spring. If I can press him on it, and we can tempt some of the Slytherins into a friendly match, we could try it then." 

"As if they would!" Cornelia scoffed. 

Harry tilted back his head, but didn't quite laugh out loud. "Oh, you don't understand Slytherins, Cornelia. Most of them don't think we can hide anything. Draco knows _I_ can, of course, but I still think he'd agree -- and that the rest of the team would pressure him to. They're incapable of believing that we might learn more than we give away."

"Hi, Les," said a new arrival, sixth-year Sajid. "What's going on here?"

"They're discussing Quidditch strategy."

By now, Harry would usually have turned to directly face Cornelia, ignoring the lower-years. Instead, he watched Sajid roll his eyes. 

"Honestly! He's brilliant at it, and all, but what's wrong with football?" 

"It's on the ground?" Les answered with practiced sarcasm, but Harry pounced. 

"You like football?"

Sajid's eyes widened. "Yes. Do you?"

Harry grinned. "I'm surprisingly Muggle-incompetent actually, but do you know Dean is mad about that?"

"Thomas?" Sajid answered incredulously. "Your year?"

"Right," Harry replied, already looking away. "Dean!"

Dean wandered over, butterbeer in hand. "Harry."

Harry indicated Sajid with a jerk of his head. "Did you know you had a fellow football fan just a year back?"

"Football?" Dean asked incredulously, looking at Sajid. "Really?"

Sajid's eyebrows rose. "Yes," he said, "Really."

"You should organize some games," Harry encouraged, looking between them. "You could use the pitch -- we certainly don't care if the grass is kicked up." 

"Some games of what?" asked Sammy, arriving with Barnaby, another sixth-year boy, right behind him. He stepped back right after the words came out, as if afraid to have spoken in front of all these older kids. 

"Football," Harry said.

Sammy's eyes widened. "Wizards play _football_?" he asked, delighted. 

Dean clapped him on the back. "Well, no," he said, "but we're discussing changing that." 

Harry found himself in a growing group of his housemates -- mostly fifth and sixth years, but with all years represented -- and he found he wasn't as uncomfortable with that as usual. He had finessed it, after all, which made it feel somewhat under his control. By the end of the evening, he thought he had made progress in gaining the trust of the lower years. He also thought Hermione might have been watching a little too closely, but he wasn't sure. She had stayed over by the low fire, conversing with Neville for most of the evening, and with Ginny for a little while. He hoped she was just avoiding the Quidditch talk. 

 


	20. Mixed House Space

 

The next day was Sunday. Harry slept through breakfast, had lunch early, and slipped away for an afternoon of brewing with Millicent. They spent some of the cooling time talking about Nott senior. Throughout the week, the _Prophet_ had hinted at "security breaches" in Azkaban, and Dumbledore had twice assured Harry that he was making progress. It hadn't been until Friday that Nott had finally been identified as an escapee -- in a collection of single-paragraph items of local news. In this morning's edition, however, his escape was all over the front page, in articles that made it seem as if he had only been loose for a few days. Harry had to agree that it was adequate warning, but it did not satisfy his sense of justice. 

Millicent observed that they were getting low on fluxweed, and Harry assured her that he would place an order with the twins that week. It all felt oddly normal, and he was relaxed as he headed back to Gryffindor. 

 

"Harry?"

He was just at the fifth floor landing when he heard Hermione say his name. He paused, and turning, saw Hermione and Ginny getting to their feet in the corridor. Ginny beckoned him, and he left the staircase and walked over. 

"What's up?"

"Nothing much--"

"We just wanted to talk to you."

"Hm." Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Does this 'talk' require Quiris?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't think it's that bad."

"We just want to know what you're up to." 

"I'm afraid you'll need to be more specific." At the look that passed between the two, he sighed. He was probably going about this all wrong. "Look," he said. "I don't have some grand unified plot. If you want to know the point of something I did, you'll need to tell me what it was." 

"Bulstrode," Ginny said, as Hermione said, "the lower years." 

He raised his eyebrows at her, and she sighed. "And Bulstrode," she added. 

"You were walking down the stairs with her, yesterday," Ginny explained. "We both saw, and we started talking about it."

"I don't recall her being a friend of Draco's before, but she came along last week."

Harry sighed. "She isn't a friend of Draco's." 

"So--"

"She's a friend of _mine_. I asked her to look after him for me, in Slytherin, and sometimes she does."

For a moment, the girls were quiet. Hermione looked as if she'd found a worm in an apple. 

"I don't see how you could become friends with someone like that." 

"Really?" Harry challenged. "Draco thinks it's just like Hagrid." 

Her jaw dropped. "That wasn't what I meant!" 

"Oh?" Harry didn't doubt it, but he wanted her to understand. "If _she_ heard you say 'someone like that,' it's what she'd assume you meant." 

"I meant," Hermione said hotly, "the vicious girl who pounded on me during our second year." 

"So your opinion of her is based on a physical fight when both of you were twelve?"

"I don't see that she's changed any! She's a Beater!" 

"So were the twins!"

"I'm not always pleased with their behavior either, but at least they're on our side!" 

Harry let that hang for a moment. Hermione's face was red, but he wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or just anger. 

"How do you know she's not?" he challenged.

Hermione didn't say anything. 

"It doesn't seem likely," Ginny offered. "Besides, didn't she call Hermione ... that word, once?"

"Again, I believe we're talking about a twelve-year-old, and during a year that sort of behavior was being actively incited."

"She hit me," Hermione said, but more uncertainly than before.

"And you hit Malfoy -- back when Draco was 'Malfoy' -- at least once. And let's not even talk about people I've hit." 

"That's different, though. You're a boy." Hermione blushed. "I mean, a lot of boys grow out of that." She groaned. "Ignore me. I can't believe I said that." She bit her lip. "I just don't see what-- see anything that could be appealing about her." 

"How could you? You don't know her." 

"I know what she's like in lessons." 

"Right. When it's Gryffindor and Slytherin, and we're all on our best behavior, I'm sure." 

Ginny giggled. "We're getting sidetracked," she said. "I don't mind if she's your friend; I just worried it might be something else."

"Something else?" Harry asked.

"That she was blackmailing you, or you were using her as an envoy, or something...." She shrugged. "Something you might need Gryffindor friends to know about." 

"Wouldn't I tell you, then?" he demanded. Ginny was not put off. 

"Not necessarily. You protect other people, especially your friends, even if that means not asking for help when you need it."

"Oh." Harry smiled. That made sense, and was actually cheering. "Yeah, um, well ... I'm seeing a Slytherin now." 

"So?"

"So, he's trying to train me out of that." 

She grinned at him. "Good. Not that I want you to be selfish, but you could use a little more sense. Now...." She set her hands on her hips in a pose reminiscent of her mother. Harry wondered if Mrs. Weasley had been a pretty little firecracker at sixteen. "Moving on. We found your behavior last night, well, odd." 

"Yes," Hermione agreed. 

"You were talking to all those fifth- and sixth-year kids -- ones who _aren't_ on the team -- as well as your current swarm of firsties."

Harry snorted. Could his housemates be just as paranoid as the Slytherins? "Oh, don't tell me you think I'm corrupting them!" 

"No, of course not!" Hermione exclaimed. 

"Just ...." Ginny bit her lip. "You don't generally care who likes you, Harry -- at least that I've been able to tell. And this year, you seemed to want people you wouldn't usually _notice_ to like you. Is something wrong?" 

"No, of course n--" Harry hesitated. He stepped back towards the stairwell so he could look up and down it. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested. "This is already too ... we shouldn't be talking here." 

With a glance between them, the girls agreed, and five minutes later, Harry found himself back outside, walking towards the lake. 

"So," Hermione prompted. 

Harry shrugged. "Nothing's wrong--" he began, but Ginny snorted. 

"You just wanted a walk?" she taunted.

"Nothing's wrong, but there _was_ a point."

"You're worried about your reputation?" she asked incredulously. "Or was it a wager?" 

"You know how you said I should let people help me?" 

When Ginny nodded, Harry forced himself to continue. "You're right, but I still worry about you -- all of you, I mean. I decided that I need more people who are willing to help, so it's not so hard on the ones who do." 

For a while, the girls thought about that. 

"It sounds good," Hermione said uncertainly, "but it's a bit manipulative, isn't it?" 

Harry looked at her. For the first time, he wished Ginny wasn't there. "You remember last year," he said cryptically. "What I did."

Hesitantly, she nodded. 

"Professor Dumbledore said that I should learn to use my charisma." 

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she looked at Ginny. 

"I know what you're talking about," Ginny confessed. 

_"WHAT?"_ Harry hoped he had misunderstood. If Hermione and Ron couldn't keep a secret like that, he couldn't trust them with anything. __

"It wasn't--" Hermione began. 

"They didn't _tell_ ," Ginny said firmly. "I overheard."

"If you overheard, they weren't being careful enough!"

"I had an invention of the twins'," Ginny explained. "A secret one that George gave me. There was no reason for Hermione and Ron to think that I could hear them. They had a silencing charm on the door; I slipped something under it, past the charm." 

"It was right after the Weasleys found out you were missing," Hermione explained. "We were talking about everything that could go wrong, from you not protecting yourself well enough, to you protecting yourself a little too ruthlessly." 

"Ah." That made sense, Harry realized. They would have needed to talk that out at some point. Still, it had probably renewed Hermione's anxiety to discuss his use of Dark Arts when he wasn't there to be reassuringly normal. "Well, when I confessed to Dumbledore, he pointed out that I'd learned two control spells--" 

"Two?" Ginny interrupted.

"There was a more limited one to make a ghost do one specific thing -- it's not much use; you can only cast it once per ghost, but I used it to command Moaning Myrtle to not tell on us, and afterwards, I was wild with it."

"Wild?" she asked, her brows wrinkling in puzzlement.

Harry felt himself grinning. "Breaking glass makes a _brilliant_ sound." 

"Oh." Her eyes widened a little, he suspected more from the look on his face than from the words. The memory was still vivid in his mind. 

"So," Hermione said shakily, "control spells." 

"Right. He suggested that I might benefit from learning to, er, 'harness my considerable charisma,' rather than forcing people to do things." Harry shrugged. "I pointed out that it wouldn't have worked on a dragon, but still, he had a point. I let rumors become issues, rather than spending the time to reassure people, because it bothers me when they're reassured for the wrong reasons."

"But you're reassuring them now."

Hermione's statement wasn't critical. Harry nodded. "Yeah. I know that last spring upset people, and the trial probably made it worse, and seeing me with Slytherins isn't going to help, but I'm not willing to dump them. So I thought I should take opportunities to talk to people who don't know me well, so they know I'm not mad, or a drunk, or betraying my house in vengeance, or whatever." 

Slowly, she nodded. "All right. That's ... mature, I suppose." 

"Thank you," Harry answered, grinning with relief. "Are we okay, then?"

Ginny barked out a quick laugh and slapped him on the shoulder. "Of course we are. Idiot. Come on, or we'll be late for dinner." 

 

Harry didn't think the girls had gossiped, or that they were at the head of some secret cabal or something, but they relaxed more around him, and that trust seemed to diffuse through his house. On Tuesday evening, he was surprised when conversations stilled as he entered the Gryffindor common room. Hermione quickly broke the silence. 

"How is your project with Professor McGonagall going?" she called, from her place by the fire. 

Harry wondered if people had been speculating about his absence from the official mixed-house social space that afternoon. Monday had been the opening day of the room near the library, with Professor Sprout present as a monitor. Harry and Draco had met there, of course, as had the other supporters of the space. Most, Harry noticed, were people with siblings or romantic interests in other houses -- and their romantic interests or siblings, respectively -- but it had the feel of a formal social event that no one quite felt comfortable at, and that was with Sprout, who was among the most easygoing staff members at Hogwarts. 

"Okay, I suppose," he answered, walking over toward her, and trying to pretend that he didn't notice everyone was listening. "She just had us reviewing theory today. Combining magics is tricky." By then, he was close enough for their conversation to be more private, and, by the time he sat down beside her, he was giving her actual details. Afterwards, he pulled out his notes, and worked beside her until he wanted to start composing his order for the twins. 

 

On Wednesday, Harry returned to the mixed-house social space with a sense of duty. He was sure it would be about the same as two days ago. His consolation would be researching whom to invite to the real one. Again, other invested parties were there: Seamus was sitting with Parvati and Padma, and the young Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw brothers were playing Exploding Snap. A Slytherin boy that had to be a sixth-year was studying with a younger Hufflepuff girl. Harry thought they might be related, but it was hard to tell. She definitely looked too young to be his girlfriend. 

"Harry!" Seamus called, spotting him. "Padma has the evening _Prophet_. Is this article crap, or did you really say that?"

Harry hurried over. As he arrived, Seamus passed him the evening paper, and Harry felt his legs give as he read the headline. He sank heavily to the sofa beside Padma. 

"Well?" she asked. 

He looked again. **_Sirius Black -- Murderer or Victim?_** the headline blared. Underneath was a picture of Sirius in custody, but not the frightening berserker picture they had run during Harry's third year. Instead, this showed Sirius on his knees and unselfconsciously in tears, with a wand pointed at his head and part of an Auror's robe behind him. 

"Sirius," he breathed, and closed his eyes for a moment, afraid to look and see how his words had been reported. 

"We'll give you a few minutes to read it," Padma said tartly, and Harry opened his eyes and looked. Despite the promising headline, he couldn't hold back a sense of dread as he began the article. 

_Sirius Black, secret right-hand man to You-Know-Who, betrayed James and Lily Potter and tracked down and murdered school chum Peter Pettigrew and fourteen Muggles ... **or did he?** Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, has a different story about what happened that night in 1981, and a very different view of Sirius Black. _

_"He was nice," the Boy-Who-Lived told our source, speaking about an encounter with Sirius Black back in 1994, shortly after his escape. "He said he was innocent, and that it wasn't me he was after at all. He didn't try to hurt me in any way, even when he could have, and he wrote to me afterward. I was horrified that they tried to suck out his soul without even listening to what he had to say, and I'm glad he escaped."_

_Innocence or insight? Sources in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (MLE) confirm that they now suspect that Sirius Black never worked for You-Know-Who, and broke out of Azkaban in an attempt to hunt down the true culprit._

_"It was the paranoia of the era," a young Auror explained, speaking on condition of anonymity. "Near the end of the first V*** era, the Ministry was so desperate to be seen as doing something about the threat that many wizards and witches were sent to Azkaban without trials, or with rigged trials. If you consider Sirius Black, he was a young man from a pureblood family, but known as a firebrand, fiercely opposed to pureblood privilege in general, and to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named specifically. He had even been disinherited for his modernist politics._

_"Could that be faked? Yes, of course. But there was no attempt to ascertain the facts. He was assumed guilty and put away. The MLE didn't even have him long enough to conduct an interrogation, and because he had no trial, he had no chance to speak, even in private. By modern standards, his treatment was shameful."_

_The staff of our paper has long wondered why this supposedly partisan and homicidal criminal has inflicted no known damage in the four years that he has evaded capture -- a stark contrast to the six murders already attributed to Athenasius Nott. An answer now presents itself. Perhaps Black is an innocent wizard, driven to desperate flight by the inhumane conditions at Azkaban Prison. Could it be that an innocent man lives in fear of honorable Aurors reluctant to be sent against him?_

_Harry Potter thinks he knows the answer. As before, he may be right._

Harry fell back against the sofa cushions. It was a few minutes before he noticed Padma, Parvati, and Seamus staring at him expectantly. 

"Well?" Seamus urged. 

With a deep breath, Harry sat up. 

"It's more or less right. I didn't say those exact words, and the _Prophet_ didn't actually interview me, but it's the gist of what I told other people. Sirius was good to me. He didn't hurt any of us when he could have. I believe that he didn't do it, like he said." 

Padma frowned. 

The Slytherin at the next table reached a hand across the surface and rapped on it. "Excuse me," he said coolly, "but are you saying that you believe Sirius Black is innocent because he _said so_ and then didn't _kill_ you?"

Harry snorted. "No. There's a lot more to it than that, but I can't talk about it."

"I see."

"No, really. There were some Aurors here a couple of weeks ago, and I gave them information, and I don't want to mess up their investigation by spreading it around." 

"Hm." The Slytherin sat back, but his contemptuous look had faded. 

Shaking his head, Seamus shrugged. "If you say so." 

"Besides," Harry said with a grin, "I'm pretty sure my Firebolt was from him, and that hasn't killed me either, right?" 

"What's this about your broom?" Draco asked. Harry hadn't noticed him arriving, but he saw the other Slytherin boy nod a greeting. 

"It was a Christmas present from my godfather," Harry answered, and Draco's eyes widened. 

"Your godfather, the fugitive?" he asked. 

Harry shrugged. "He's still the sole heir, right?" He recalled how he had gone to Gringotts polyjuiced as one of the twins. That hadn't been a problem. "The goblins don't care."

"I suppose not." Draco gestured toward the younger Slytherin. "Harry, have you met Gilbert Clarke?"

_Oh. So this is the mysterious Gilbert._ Harry held out his hand. "Not formally," he said. "Hi -- I'm Harry Potter."

Gilbert gave him a blatantly incredulous look before schooling his feature into cool courtesy. "Gilbert," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you," Harry said. "I don't know the Slytherin students nearly as well as I ought to." 

Gilbert's thin brown eyebrows lifted. "My sister," he said blandly, gesturing to the side. "Gloria Clarke, Hufflepuff, third year."

Harry wondered if that Sorting had anything to do with Gilbert's change of tune on Muggleborns. There were certainly a lot of those in Hufflepuff. "Hello, Gloria," he said, offering his hand to her as well. "Pleased to meet you." 

"Hi," she said, with a sincere shyness that her brother didn't have at all. She looked down. "Thanks."

"For what?"

She glanced over at her brother. "Gilbert says that you and Draco pushed for the room."

"It was more than just us," Harry protested. He gestured at the Patil twins. "Them, for example." 

"Right," Parvati said. "But you're the one who gets uppity with Professor Dumbledore."

"Just say 'you're welcome,' Harry." 

Harry looked at Draco and shook his head. 

"No," he said. "I don't have the right." He smiled at Gloria. "But I hope you enjoy it." 

 

Over the next two days, Draco and Harry discussed whom to invite to the Uncommon Room. They decided to start with a small group of people who had been involved, and then slowly expand membership. On Friday, when the official mixed-house space was closing, Harry approached Seamus, Parvati, and Padma, and quietly said they should come with him. Draco had invited Millicent and Blaise up after lessons, and was doing the same to them. 

"What's this about?" Seamus asked, after Harry had led them around two corners, into an apparently unused section of the castle. 

"Wait," Harry said. "You'll see." 

When he walked past the last doors on the short corridor, toward the mirror, he got to see his companions' reflections exchanging uneasy looks. 

"Well yes," Seamus said jovially. "We _are_ a good looking lot, but we hardly needed t--"

"Hush!" Harry said urgently. 

"-- to walk so far to see it," Seamus concluded, but at a whisper. 

Ignoring their shared frowns, Harry drew his wand and tapped the glass. Reaching through his reflection, he laid his hand on the door latch and lifted it, then took a step into the hidden place. Looking back over his shoulder, he gestured to the others to follow.

This time, no one spoke until the door was closed behind them. 

"Wow," Seamus said, peering down the corridor, dimly lit by the light of four wands, into darkness. 

"And look at this," Harry said. He tapped the light strip, setting it glowing. Parvati gasped. 

"It widens out further down. Come on." 

"What is this?" Padma asked. "Well, a secret passage, obviously, but where does it go?"

"Nowhere, now," Harry answered. "It's caved in further along, but there's a wide spot first, and Mill and I cleaned it up and Draco brought in some sofas and chairs and such." In the wide area now, he stood to the side and beamed at them. "Welcome to the Uncommon Room. It's invitation only, and I expect everyone to keep it secret, but it's open after dinner, and on weekends." 

"Who's Mill?" Parvati asked, her nose wrinkling.

"Millicent Bulstrode."

"Ugh," she answered. "Harry!" 

"There's nothing wrong with her." 

"She's part troll!" Parvati protested. "And her fashion sense is atrocious." 

Padma rolled her eyes. "And these are equally meaningful, of course." 

"Yes," Harry said distinctly. "Exactly. They both mean exactly _nothing_ to me." 

"That she's part troll must mean something, I would think," Seamus interjected lightly. Harry recalled the last time that he had thought of that and grinned. 

"Yeah. It means she's good at throwing rocks." He gestured over to the heap blocking the continuation of the passage. "She helped me gather the rubble. Anyway, she and Draco and Blaise should be here soon." 

"You mean to tell me that it's us and a lot of Slytherins?"

"Three Slytherins. So Padma's the only one who can feel outnumbered." 

 

Everyone stayed, but to Harry's disappointment, interactions among the group were strained. He brought up fixing the light strip, which had everyone talking together for a while, but as the discussion became more advanced, it eventually fell to Blaise and Padma. Seamus and Parvati started talking about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, and Draco and Millicent about their match versus Hufflepuff later in the month, and Harry tried awkwardly to maintain a voice in at least the latter two conversations. 

Still, no one fought, and they all agreed, in theory, that the room was a good idea. With an agreement to discuss further invitees later, the group dispersed early. Harry tried to quell his disappointment as Draco prepared to leave with his housemates. If they had been alone, Draco would have at least kissed him goodnight. He took a step towards him, and Draco turned. 

"Right. Harry ... when do you want to meet in the morning?"

"Meet -- oh! To walk into Hogsmeade?"

Draco nodded. "I thought we might want to get an early start."

Harry felt a flush of warmth at the idea of getting a _very_ early start. "I'll come by Slytherin before breakfast," he offered.

Draco smiled. "That will do. Come along now, Blaise; you won't get any further until the library opens." 

 

An hour before dawn, Harry crept out of his bed, put on his invisibility cloak, and made his way down to Slytherin. He entered without incident -- there was no one in the common room, and the password hadn't changed since he had last heard it -- and made his way to the seventh-year boys' dormitory. Nott's attempt on Harry had not been publicly acknowledged. Harry knew that Snape had disciplined the young man privately, but that still left him in residence. Snape had decided that it was better to have him under watch than at large and probably serving Voldemort, and after some argument, Harry had agreed not to dispute that to Dumbledore or McGonagall. For the most part, he thought that Snape was right, but it did add the spice of real danger to sneaking through the room where Nott and Blaise slept. 

Draco's inner room, when he entered it, was not entirely dark. The embers of a fire gave off a faint glow that showed Harry the path past the sideboard and to the bed, where the curtains were drawn -- perhaps against the light of that fire when it had been brighter. 

Deciding against wandlight, Harry approached the fire and stoked it to a low flame. The heat of it felt good in the chill of the dungeons, and he undressed before the grate, folding each item of clothing and stacking them all on a chair. Naked, he returned to the bed and drew the curtains. 

Draco was still asleep. The light of the fire flickered across his face and chased his pale hair with gold. Harry watched him mumble in his sleep and turn his face from the light. Smiling, Harry pulled the curtains just a little bit back out, to shade Draco's eyes, and then waited for him to settle. 

When Draco was breathing evenly once more, Harry cast a light warming charm over the bed, and then slowly began to turn back the covers. He was not surprised to find Draco naked beneath them. Carefully, Harry eased onto the narrow space beside him on the mattress. Draco mumbled again. 

"S'alright," Harry murmured. "Jus' me. You're safe." 

Bending down, he breathed along the soft skin beside Draco's navel, and then below it. Draco's cock was half filled out -- swelled, but neither hard nor as long as it would become. Harry set his lips to it and dragged them down the length, feeling it rise beneath the touch. 

Gently, he licked up. The question was not if Draco would wake, but when. Would it be now, when he spread out his tongue and pressed up Draco's hardening shaft? Now, when he took the tip in his mouth, still needing to lift, but not so much?

"Oh," Draco breathed. "Uhn." 

His body stiffened momentarily under Harry's ministrations, and he abruptly curled up to stare. "Oh," he said, flopping down again. "You. Merlin." 

The stuttering breath of a laugh emerged from Harry's throat and forced its way past the obstruction of Draco's cock. Draco whined. 

"You're brilliant," Draco panted out. "Utterly... Fuck." 

His response was everything Harry had hoped for, and after he climaxed, Draco wasted no time in rolling Harry over to return the favor. At this rate, Harry thought, he might start liking mornings. 

 

Gradually, Harry's racing heart began to slow, and he raised his head to see Draco looking smugly up at him. 

"You," he said, "are totally brilliant. Come up here."

Draco crawled up to claim a kiss. "Of course I am," he said, and snuggled in next to Harry, one hand resting on Harry's chest. "That's quite the best way I've ever been woken. What gave you that idea?"

"You said to show up early," Harry returned. "I thought you meant this -- you know, before anyone was awake." 

Draco's eyebrows rose. "Oh! No, I just meant while people were gathering for breakfast. For private time, I was hoping to lure you down to the chamber after getting back from the village."

"Well, we could do both."

Stretching over, Draco gave him another kiss. "I like that idea." 

"All right. Now what did you intend? Should we go to breakfast together?" 

Draco shook his head. "Breakfast in Hogsmeade, I think. And then we need to look for some books, and I, at least, need clothes, and a new arm guard for Quidditch -- I took a bad Bludger hit in practice. Right before we head back, we should buy some wine -- six bottles, perhaps? -- for the Uncommon Room."

Harry tried to put all this together. Even after sex, it was still early morning. "You want to serve wine?"

"Well, not all the time. Last night was strained though. I thought a glass per person might ease the atmosphere for getting acquainted, so I was planning for three nights of that, perhaps on successive Friday evenings." He frowned. "Maybe twelve bottles would be better." 

Harry pushed his hair back. "Draco... I'll get such crap if I buy that much wine at once. And if it gets back to the professors, they'll pay far too much attention to my whereabouts." 

"Ah. You have a point. Perhaps we could get someone else to make the purchase? I insist on scouting first, though, so we don't end up with an inferior vintage." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say." He bumped against Draco. "Toff," he added cheekily. 

 

For the sake of efficiency, Harry left the room under his invisibility cloak, but the sight of Nott, fast asleep in his bed, made him slow, and then stop. He saw Draco open the door to the darkened passage to the Common Room and pause with it ajar, but he was still standing by Nott's bed when the door closed behind his lover. He didn't want a fight -- not now -- but he needed Voldemort's young servant to know that he had been here, while Nott was helpless in sleep. After a second's thought, he cast the writing spell that he and Draco had used in the Chamber of Secrets -- almost a full year ago, now -- and drew a lightning bolt on the wall behind Nott's sleeping form. It didn't look quite right, but he thought the message was clear. 

The Common Room was empty. As Harry was hurrying across, wondering when Draco would realize that he was missing, the door to the outer corridor opened, showing Draco's anxious face, lit from below by his wand.

"Harry?" he mouthed soundlessly.

"Here," Harry whispered, and pushed up against him for a kiss. Draco held him, but stepped backwards, drawing them out of the room and letting the door close, and a moment later, he had Harry pushed back against the stone wall of the corridor, kissing him while the hood slipped from his head. Harry thought that it was a good thing there was no one to see; they must look creepy, with Draco kissing half a face, while his hands and wrists, and probably a knee, disappeared. 

They stopped briefly at Snape's rooms to tell him they would be leaving early and would be careful, and then left the castle and headed down the path towards the village. 

"Now that we have some privacy," Draco said, "we should talk about Ron Weasley." 

Harry couldn't think of anything Ron had done. "What about him?" he asked. Draco rolled his eyes. 

"Scheduling," he said.

"Ah!" That made more sense. "Hadn't we thought Fridays?" 

"Yes, but if that's going to be party night at the Uncommon Room, it won't do." Draco hesitated. "I know we had intended to keep Saturday for just us, but I believe it will need to be on the weekend. Some of the techniques may incapacitate him for several hours. Sunday afternoon, perhaps?"

Harry felt a stirring of fear. On Sunday, he had to meet Millicent every other week. He had promised her he wouldn't tell, though. 

"I'm busy some weeks," he said.

Draco shrugged. "Well, we won't be doing divination every week." 

"Which makes losing a few hours of Saturday not as bad either," Harry pointed out. "Why don't we decide for each week, based on what's going on then?"

"All right," Draco agreed. "And this week?"

"Sunday works for me."

Draco nodded. "Sunday, then. Our practical with Professor McGonagall goes until lunch, so after we all eat, I think. It should be easy enough for you to get him away from the others without arousing suspicion." He hesitated. "About the location -- I confess, I am having second thoughts. For the first few attempts, it hardly seems necessary...."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Let's just use the Uncommon Room."

Draco smiled in relief.

 

"Hi, Blaise." 

Blaise looked away from the window display of Hogsmeade Books. "Hey," he said. "Where's Draco?"

Harry shrugged. "He went into Fiona's Fripperies to look for something for his cousins." He didn't mention that Draco had ducked into the shop once they had spotted Blaise alone. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. Can we talk for a minute?"

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Would this be about that ... _mark_ over Theo's bed?"

Harry's mouth fell open. He had entirely forgotten about his early morning impulsiveness. "Um, no?" Had that looked threatening to Blaise? "I just, um, couldn't resist. I mean, he was there asleep ... I don't think well before breakfast. Did he panic?"

"Just a tiny bit," Blaise said dryly. "He was checking his bed for curses when I woke up, and by the time I came back from breakfast, he'd made it to his pants."

Harry laughed. "I'd have loved to have seen that!" 

"Well, be a little more discreet!" Blaise scolded, though he was smiling now. "I didn't even know it was you when we started this conversation. You probably should have said you had no idea what I meant." 

Harry looked down and scuffed at the dirt with one toe. "I suppose," he said. 

"So-- what was it that you _did_ want?" 

"For-- Oh, just now?"

"Right."

"Ah. Well, about that favor...."

"If you want me to renew it for you every night, forget it."

Harry snorted. "No, I want you to buy some wine for me."

Blaise blinked. "Why not buy it yourself?"

"Well...." Harry ducked his head. "Draco wants to throw a party, sort of, and he wants a mixed case, and if I buy that much of anything, I'll have trouble, and if _he_ buys it, everyone will assume it's for me...."

Blaise looked amused. "And you'll still have trouble. True. Do you care what sort of wine?"

Nodding, Harry pulled a woman's folding mirror case out of his pocket. He had seen a display of them in Muggle London, and, remembering Draco's trick with the girl's ID card, had bought several. Opening it up, he showed Blaise the two trapped reflections inside. "Six each of these two. Oh, and they're a bit dear -- Draco picked -- so I'll give you money." 

Blaise nodded. "Good, because that's the only way you're not getting 'Dwight's White', or whatever's cheapest."

Harry nodded. "Understood." 

They moved into the shadow of an alley, and Harry counted out galleons. Blaise shifted uneasily as he watched. 

"So," he said, and cleared his throat. "Am I invited to this party?"

"Huh? Oh -- yeah." Harry looked up and smiled at him. "Of course. Actually, it's not really a _party_ , exactly; it's Draco's plan for Friday evenings in the Uncommon Room."

"Oh." 

"So, yeah, we'll be telling everyone to show up."

"And serving wine," Blaise said doubtfully. 

Harry shrugged. "Well, he says that's how awkward social gatherings work -- wine and food -- and that we're definitely at an awkward stage."

Blaise reached out his hand for the money and took it with a grin. "He has a point there. All right. Shall I deliver the goods to you, or will Draco do?"

"Draco, definitely," Harry answered. "It will be a lot easier to do without anyone noticing."

"Exactly." 

They shook hands, and Blaise headed off down the street. Harry watched him go with curious reluctance. How much of Blaise's association with him was due to owing him a favor? Would things be different now? On the other hand, Blaise had expressed a preference for Voldemort's defeat, and he was planning to come on Friday, so possibly not. Actually, Harry realized, brightening, Blaise had been anxious to be included, so probably things would not change all that much. 

Still, he didn't look away until Draco slipped into place beside him. 

"Success?" Draco asked. 

"Yes. And you?"

Draco laughed and hoisted his parcel. "A completely lovely hairnet, set with amber beads, for Marcella, and some color-changing ribbons for Desiree. Let's go to the Three Broomsticks, and I'll show you." 

 


	21. Suppositions

 

At the Three Broomsticks, they found Ron. He was sitting by himself, glowering across the room at Hermione, and taking advantage of being of age to drink. With only a glance between them, Harry and Draco separated, Draco heading over toward some classmates, and Harry over to the empty seat beside Ron. 

As Harry slipped into the chair, he was relieved to see Hermione's bag was next to it. Clearly she had at least been here and was intending to come back. Currently, however, she was talking to some third and fourth year students by the fire. 

He waved a hand in front of Ron's face, and Ron's entire body twitched. "Merlin!" he swore, licking splashed beer off his hand. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't trying to," he objected. "Anyway, what's she doing?"

Ron threw his hands up in exasperation. "I don't know! Trying to get them to behave, or something. Why does she _do_ that?" 

"Because she's Hermione?"

"We're in Hogsmeade! Can't she just be my girlfriend for the day?"

Harry grinned. "I don't think Hermione will ever be _just_ someone's girlfriend." 

To his surprise, Ron scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, she won't be much of a wife, then, will she?" 

Harry felt like he'd been knocked over by a Repulsion hex. It took him a moment to get his breath. "You can't actually mean that." 

"What?" Ron asked, staring at him with honest confusion. "You know, if she's going to run a household, she won't have time to be after the neighbors about humane treatment of ghouls, or whatever her cause of the month is." He sighed. "Mum says she'll settle down once she has a baby to focus all that energy on, but I don't know." 

Hermione, by the fire, gestured as she said something to Sajid, the movement slowed by Harry's dread. "I wouldn't count on it," he said cautiously. It sounded better than 'your mum is deluding herself.'

Ron sighed. "Cheery, aren't you? Forget it. What's up?" 

Harry decided that the matter of Hermione could wait until later. "We were wondering if you were available for the exercise tomorrow," he said. "A short one, Draco says, just to test the potion."

Ron looked befuddled for a moment, but then his face cleared. "Oh, that!" he said. "Yeah, sure. Actually...." He paused, head tilting slightly as he studied Hermione again. "Let's do it now."

Harry glanced over at where Draco was talking to Blaise. It was early enough that Draco shouldn't mind; they could still have time together after the divination. "Okay," he said. "I'll get Draco and head outside. You should take Hermione her bag before you leave." 

 "Right." Ron downed the rest of his beer in four long swallows. "I'll meet you." 

 

The walk from Hogsmeade, Harry thought, had brought Ron down from tipsy to mellow. He seemed clear on everything, but he didn't tense as Draco explained the procedure again. 

"Don't attempt to get answers, this time," Draco told him, in a manner that Harry knew was intended to be soothing, but which was likely to get Ron's back up. "Just see if you can separate Harry and ... our enemy."

Harry intervened. "Does that make sense?" he said, offering the flask of scrying potion to Ron. They were in the Uncommon Room, on stiff velveteen chairs that Draco had nicked from storage, sitting around a small, low, stone table with a white marble bowl in the middle of it. Draco had set an alert charm in the corridor outside the mirror. "You need to be the one who pours the potion, and then to add just a few drops of my blood to it."

Resolutely, Ron nodded. He took the potion from Harry and poured it in the marble basin. His attention locked onto the iridescent liquid as it streamed from the spout of the flask, and stayed on it as it pooled in the vessel below. For several minutes after Draco took the empty flask from his fingers, he sat still, watching the shimmering surface. Harry wasn't sure what to do. After a moment, he extended his arm. Draco, not unexpectedly, but a little alarmingly, produced a stiletto from his robes and handed it to Harry. Harry flipped it over to offer it, hilt-first, to Ron. 

"Blood?" Ron asked, blinking. 

"My blood," Harry confirmed. "His blood." 

Nodding, Ron took the dagger. His gaze again fixed on the scrying potion, he accepted the intrusion of Harry's wrist into his grasp. 

"Third finger," Harry prompted. 

"Yeah," Ron said, finally raising his head. He aligned the stiletto and hesitated, the thin point just above Harry's skin. "You okay with this?" he asked. His gaze flicked significantly over to Draco and returned. "Really?"

"Really," Harry assured him. "Do it." 

With a short nod, Ron adjusted his grip and brought the point down, piercing Harry's skin. Harry inhaled sharply, but didn't flinch. Ron had to consciously add the blood, Draco had said. 

"Turn my wrist," he prompted. Ron rotated Harry's hand to be almost palm down and then, unbidden, squeezed down the finger. Four drops of blood fell into the potion. A fifth welled at Harry's fingertip. Ron released his hand and bent over the bowl, which seemed to have far more lines and swirls of pink than could be accounted for by four drops of blood. 

"Good," Draco breathed. "Now, we want you to--" 

Ron held up a hand for silence. Draco stopped speaking in mid-sentence. Ron was frowning at the potion. 

"That's a _mess_ ," he said. 

Harry tensed. Ron, still watching the potion, reached into his pocket and drew his wand. 

"Weasley," Draco said. "There's no one there."

Ron nodded, but pointed his wand at the bowl. He gave a tiny little jab forward, like a fencer who meant only to offer insult, and whispered, " _Diffindo_."

The bowl did not split. The lines of pink, however, shot away like two schools of startled minnows. 

"Good," Ron said, setting his wand down by the bowl.

"Ron?" Harry asked tentatively. 

"Mm?" 

"What do you see?"

"There isn't really anything _to_ see," Ron said, almost conversationally, staring at the pinkish swirls. "I mean, shapes, but it's not like a Pensieve, you know? It _did_ separate, though, I'm sure."

He continued to stare at the shimmering liquid, and, occasionally, to blow on it. Draco cleared his throat. 

"Why are you sure?" he asked. 

Ron's eyes narrowed without changing focus. "Because I _hate_ him," he answered sharply. "It may have been Rodolphus Lestrange who murdered my father, but I know damn well who told him to." He bit down over his lower lip, drawing it free in a long scrape of teeth on skin. "He's going to have Nott kill someone tonight." 

Draco twitched. "Are you sure?" 

"Well, of--" Ron looked up, and shook himself. "I...." he began uncertainly. He swallowed, and then laughed shakily. "I don't know why I said that. Blood in the water, I guess." 

Draco sat back. "We shall see." 

 

The next day wasn't a brewing Sunday, but Harry met Millicent in the Uncommon Room for a lesson on glamours. She was getting better. She could keep the visual glamour on her shoes when she walked, now, although they didn't clonk in the right way. He had her try her robes, which were harder, because of the way the fabric moved. When she paced back and forth, he saw occasional flashes of the true cloth. 

"I'm hopeless, aren't I?" she asked wryly. 

With a derisive snort, Harry shook his head. "You're learning fast. You've made about a term's progress in two weeks. Yeah, you're nowhere near good enough to do a full-body glamour on yourself....." He met her eyes and grinned. "But at this rate, you'll be there by Christmas holidays, and that's the mark that matters."

She beamed at him, and then, to his surprise, caught him in a rough hug, not letting up until he choked dramatically. 

"Sorry," she said, still smiling broadly. "But you're brilliant."

"It's just...." he gestured vaguely. "Half our year could probably--" 

"Yeah, but they wouldn't," she interrupted. "Thank you for not treating me like I'm stupid."

"Oh." He reached out and gripped her arm. "You're not."

She shrugged. 

"Look, I have Neville as a roommate, right?" When she rolled her eyes, he let go to punch her arm -- hard.

"Ow! What was--?"

"Neville is _brilliant_ ," Harry said fiercely. "He just doesn't learn the same _way_ most people do. His memory is crap, unless it's for plants, but if you take that out of it, the way McGonagall won't, and you don't intimidate him, the way Snape can't resist doing, he's clever. And diligent. He'll struggle with something for weeks, but then, when he gets it, suddenly understand it better than I do." He looked intently at Millicent. "So I know the difference between stupid and lost." 

She smiled, a little more wryly. "Thanks," she said again. "And sorry. I should know better, right? It's just so good to look smarter than _someone_." 

"Don't put him down, okay?"

"Right." 

"Now. Shall I redo your glamour?"

Millicent nodded. Harry studied her for a moment. "I'd love to end it first," he said, "but we still don't have photographs." 

"Curious?"

Harry grinned. "Of course. I always am, don't you know?" 

She stuck her tongue out. "I've heard that theory." 

Sighing dramatically, he drew his wand. "Well, I suppose I'll have to wait, this time. Robes off!" 

When he had renewed the glamour, they left the Uncommon Room. Harry started up to Gryffindor, and Millicent, this time, came with him. 

"So," she said, "there's something I thought you should know." 

Before he could ask, movement from an alcove by the next landing caught his eye. It was definitely Justin Finch-Fletchley, extending his open robes over a slightly shorter girl who flashed suspiciously pale patches in the dim light. 

"Good evening," Harry said blandly. 

"Good evening, Potter," Finch-Fletchley said coldly. 

Harry and Millicent went up the next flight of stairs in silence. 

"Finch-Fletchley again," she said offhandedly. 

"He needs to find better places to snog," Harry returned, and she chortled. 

"Yeah." She was silent for another ten steps. "Was that the same bird, though?" she asked. 

Harry choked. "Practicing?" 

"Maybe." 

"Huh." 

Another few steps. 

"So," she said, "as I was saying, Pansy has noticed how much time we spend together." 

Harry shrugged. "So has Hermione." 

"Ah. Is Hermione trying to persuade Draco that you and I are involved?"

Harry stopped on the stair and whirled to face her. " _What?_ " 

"That's what I thought. Pansy is. I don't think she actually believes it; she just wants him to." 

Harry shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "What-- Do you think Draco--"

"He thinks it's _ludicrous_ , as far as I can tell. He rolls his eyes and ignores her. I just thought you should know, so you don't play into it if she tries to set you up." 

 

When he arrived at breakfast early enough, Harry had taken to looking over Hermione's shoulder at the morning paper. When he didn't, she would usually pass it to him between morning lessons. On Monday morning, when the post owl dropped the rolled _Daily Prophet_ between them, he didn't hesitate to undo the cord himself. 

**Auror Murdered** was the top headline, alternating every few seconds with **Victim Found Minutes after Death**.

"Oh no!" Hermione said, looking over. 

"What is it?" Dean demanded. 

"Not a big attack," Harry reassured him. "One killing."

Ron looked over anxiously, and Harry answered with a tiny shrug. He didn't know if it had been Nott. 

"Auror Murdered," Hermione read. "When Hildegarde Plumtree set out from her Yorkshire home shortly before dawn yesterday, she was planning to gather mooncalf dung for her prize luminous lilies. She never made it to the pasture. 

"'Coming down the hill,' Mrs. Plumtree said, 'I heard a splash -- rather a large one -- too loud for a water rat. So of course, when I was crossing the stream, I looked down. It was getting light then, but I cast a Light charm anyway, because the water looked like it had strands of yarn in it, which didn't make any sense. It took me a moment to realize it was blood.'" 

Involuntarily, Harry looked up at Ron. Color was draining from Ron's face. _Blood in the water._ Hermione went on to read about how the Auror victim had been investigating a string of attacks on Muggles. Harry scanned the Slytherin table for Draco. When he met Draco's eyes, Draco nodded. 

 

The first class of the morning was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry gave Ron's shoulder a supportive squeeze as he left to sit with Hermione, but he stayed close to Draco. Ron was shaken, but Draco was anxious.

"Are you all right?"

"Me," Draco said tightly. "Us. We're people he wants to kill." 

Despite being in class, Harry put an arm around Draco and pulled him closer. "You're safe here," he said.

"Really?" Draco asked sarcastically, although he laid his head on Harry's shoulder. 

"Really," Harry whispered fiercely. "I'll take care of you, even if the school doesn't." 

Across the aisle, Justin Finch-Fletchley cleared his throat. "Always with Slytherins, these days, aren't you Potter?" he goaded. "Don't think the rest of the school doesn't notice." 

Draco scowled across Harry at the Hufflepuff. "We're a _couple_ , Finch-Fletchley," he said condescendingly. 

"I know. Everyone knows." Finch-Fletchley glared at Harry. "But you're not the only Slytherin I see him with." 

Harry rolled his eyes and squeezed Draco a little. "Maybe if you found a more private spot for your snogging sessions, you wouldn't need to be offended by random passersby."

People were turning to look at them. To Harry's relief, Professor Hecksban appeared in the doorway, interrupting the argument. 

"Good morning!" he said. "Is everyone ready to start counters to explosive hexes?" 

Draco straightened up, moving a few inches away from Harry. While the professor was sketching one of his colorful illustrations, Draco wrote in the Liber Geminus. 

_After dinner, shall we meet in the UR?_

_Instead of our chamber?_

_Yes. If you would?_

_Whatever you want._

Harry, through thoughts of Nott, and divination, and murder, distantly wondered why Draco wanted to meet in the Uncommon Room, when they could be guaranteed privacy in the Chamber of Secrets. When it came down to it, though, he wasn't in the mood for romance, or even sex. Perhaps, he thought, Draco felt the same.

What he really needed, he decided, was to talk to Snape, and conveniently, Potions was their next lesson. On the walk down, he decided, he would tell Susara to pose around his neck. With luck, Draco wouldn't notice until it was too late to interfere.

 

It clearly wasn't a real detention, once the door had shut behind him. Snape rose from his chair, but rather than looming, came around his desk and leaned back against it. He still crossed his arms over his chest, bringing his robes tight around his tall frame, but there was curiosity behind his sneer. "Well, Potter?" he asked dryly. "What do you want?"

Harry took a quick breath. "Can I curse Nott?" he asked. "Not Theodore, I mean -- his uncle. If I can try to trace Voldemort through my blood, can I curse Theodore Nott's uncle through his?" 

Snape's eyes widened for a moment. "Curse?" he asked sharply. "What did you have in mind?" 

"I was hoping there was a curse for bad luck, or something. Nothing too obvious, just something that would eventually cause him to mess up and get caught." 

"Ah." Snape's arms unfolded, and his hands came down to the desktop at either side of his thin frame. "'Luck' is a tricky element to alter, even for short periods of time. Such curses -- and potions -- exist, but they are expensive to the caster. Think about what I told you, Harry, about what the Dark Arts require. What would a curse of bad luck take from you?"

"I don't care," Harry said stubbornly. "Not if I can stop him." 

Snape's eyes glittered. "Bad luck might cause his glamour to waver in front of an Auror, true. It might also cause him to fatally splinch. Could you live with that?" 

Harry glared back at him. "Yes."

"You would press forward even if it will cause someone's death?"

"I killed Lestrange," Harry said harshly. "No one _says_ it that way, but I know I did." 

Snape nodded. "Very good. Self awareness is an asset that you have been sadly lacking in the past." He leaned back further against the desk. "However, a curse by blood is a curse on _all_ blood, and since the target is Theodore's uncle, you cannot restrict it too closely. What if this 'bad luck' caused his young cousin -- she is five years old, I believe -- to fall out of a tree and break her neck?" 

Harry closed his eyes. It was too easy to see a young girl falling ... twisting just wrong.... 

"No." 

"And there, you see, is the problem. Even if you will accept the damage to your soul, the weapon is too crude." 

"Something else, then," Harry persisted, "that will make it harder for him to hide. A limp. Loud sneezing fits. Glowing hair."

Snape coughed. "Creative," he said. "And the initial curse would look like a 'harmless prank' on Theodore. But when some number of his relatives developed the same condition, it would be clear that the family had been cursed, and to do _that_ requires Dark Arts." Snape straightened, standing away from the desk. "While you might not be the first suspect to occur to the world at large, the headmaster will think of you promptly. Thanks to your indiscretion last week, so will most of Slytherin." 

"Well, there must be something!" Harry glared at Snape. "I want him taken out."

Whirling to face him, Snape glared. "Petulance does not become you, Mr. Potter," he hissed. Harry froze. Snape stepped closer. "It makes you remind me far too much of your father ... and not a little of my former master." 

Closing his eyes, Harry took a long breath. He had probably deserved that, he thought, at least in part. He forced himself to look at Snape. 

"Sorry, sir." 

Snape's expression did not soften, but he inclined his head a fraction. "Why does this suddenly concern you?" he demanded. "Explain. Did you know Auror Peggleton?" 

Harry braced himself. "He's a threat to my lover," he said. "I won't have that." 

"Ah." 

"If there's nothing I can do with curses, do you think Mrs. Malfoy might help?"

Snape raised a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. "For what conceivable reason, Potter, would Narcissa Malfoy help capture or kill one of her husband's associates?"

"Because he's a threat to her _son_ ," Harry shot back. "Nott holds his capture against Draco, probably even more than against me -- you could tell that he did, at the trial. And you said she loves him." 

"Ah." His hand falling away from his face, Snape nodded. "Yes. However, that will not be enough to bring her to defy her social circle." 

"I'm not looking for defiance," Harry argued. "A little help on the sly, through you, maybe...."

After a long moment, Snape nodded. "It is possible. I will sound her out." His expression darkened. "Now, about marking Theo's wall...."

"I didn't know he'd take it as a threat!" 

"Then you seriously misunderstand my house, Potter. How _else_ would he take it?"

"As a sign I'd been there, and hadn't hurt him, but could have." 

"And that is not a threat?"

"No -- that's a warning!"

"And the difference?"

"That I won't do anything else, if he doesn't do anything else!" 

Snape scowled. "That is _not_ how mine think. I expect you to be more careful in the future." He stepped forward. "Actually, I expect more progress in my house. You offered alliance, but you have done little to establish it."

"I'm working on it!" Harry protested. "And Millicent and Blaise like me. And one of the first years -- Gentian." 

"LeFay?" Snape asked, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Interesting." He prowled back around his desk. "So. Other than illustrating your typical impulsiveness, Potter, does today's inquiry indicate that you would be interested in further study?" 

Harry eyed him cautiously. "If it's useful enough," he decided aloud.

Snape sat, steepling his hands before him. "Because of the incidents in the Slytherin dormitories," he said, "it occurred to me that you might find useful a spell to increase someone's credulity for your excuses ... for, say, why you were not in your _own_ dormitory at night?"

Harry shrugged. "She won't know if my mates don't tell her." 

Snape's mouth twitched.

"But it might be useful, yeah." 

Snape pushed back from the desk. Taking a book from atop a pile to one side, he offered it to Harry. "Pages 83 through 87, and page 107," he said. "We can discuss it Thursday, after lessons. I know you have the last period free, so you can be here without my spellson knowing, if you wish."

Harry nodded. "I may tell him anyway, but yeah -- not until after the fact." 

"So you get what you want, in any case," Snape sneered. "Well done."

"I--" 

"Run along, Potter. I've essays to mark." 

 

Harry stopped around the corner from Snape's office to write in the Liber Geminus that he was available after all. He thought he might be better off stopping by Slytherin, but he knew he was in too much of a temper to deal with the house at large. Instead, he went up to the Uncommon Room, intending to check for a reply when he got there. Instead, he found Draco levitating a midnight blue velveteen sofa to one side of the room. Draco turned to him in surprise. 

"I thought you had detention." 

"Yeah, well, Snape got tired of me." Harry crossed to the case of wine and pulled out a bottle. "Which of these do you think I'd like better?"

"The white, at least at first," Draco answered absently, but then looked up. "Harry! Don't open that!"

"Why not? You have plenty."

"And I expect it to last for at least three Fridays."

"Let's go down to the Chamber, then. I want a drink." 

Draco scowled. "I don't have time. I'm trying to get this room presentable."

"What?" Harry dropped into one of the previous batch of chairs. They were stiffly uncomfortable, but a beautiful match for the sofa. "What's wrong with it?"

"It looks like a cave!"

Harry glanced around. "Like a well-furnished dungeon, actually," he said. "Your lot should feel right at home." 

Draco spun around and glared at him. "How dare you--" He stopped. 

"Sorry," Harry said. "I didn't mean--"

"Was Severus that awful?"

Harry groaned. "We fought, all right? And I hate how he treats me like an infant. 'Run along, Potter,'" he mimicked. 

Draco sniggered. "He wasn't too upset, if that was the worst of it. I suspect he just overreacted because of your cheek; I told you not to wear Susara like that, and so soon after what you did to Theo--"

"Yeah, what I did to Theo seemed to be a lot of it. I hadn't thought of it as a threat, though -- it was more of an offer of truce, actually."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "It was?"

"Well, I obviously _could_ have hurt him, and I didn't." 

"He's still not sure you didn't, though." 

"Right. So I've been told. It's not my fault Slytherins are paranoid." Still, Harry couldn't help but remember how amused he had been when he had heard about Nott casting curse detection charms at his underwear. He hadn't exactly been in a hurry to make it clear.

Smiling, Draco crossed the room and distracted Harry with a long kiss. 

"My bluff Gryffindor," he said affectionately. "No use regretting it now. Help me with this room, will you? I want everyone to feel comfortable here. Do you know where we could get little house banners? I was thinking we could hang them at even intervals." Eagerly, he gestured around them. "Then we'll need a few carpets, and a sideboard there for the wine and an assortment of little cakes, and a few places to put flowers--" 

"Hold on a moment," Harry interrupted. "Don't you think that's a bit much?"

Draco hesitated. "Actually, I thought it would be barely adequate." 

"Flowers?" Harry asked incredulously. "Seamus will find it too girly."

"Social gatherings are expected to have flowers," Draco protested. "We often have flowers in the Great Hall at dinner."

"You could probably get away with one arrangement," Harry conceded. "That's all, though. Really." 

"Because it's too 'girly?'" 

"Because it's too _contrived_."

"At Malfoy Manor...." Draco stopped, biting his lip, and Harry nodded. 

"Right. How many of these people would fit in at Malfoy Manor?" 

For a moment, Draco looked into the distance, releasing his lower lip to a tight sneer. 

"I see," he said finally. He looked around at his matching sofa and chairs. "I'll need to change some of the furniture. It's a little too formal, I think. The banners still seem like a good idea. You'll probably need to help me with the food."

Harry tried not to let his astonishment show. "Okay," he said. 

Draco smiled brightly. "I had thought elderflower presse and pumpkin juice for non-alcoholic beverages, but now that I think of it, we might want--" He stopped. "Herpo!" 

"What?"

"We should have beer, shouldn't we? Are we having guests who will prefer it to wine?" 

Harry immediately pictured Seamus peering suspiciously into a glass of white wine. "Almost certainly." 

"Damnation. And we can hardly have it delivered." Draco frowned. "Would that pet House Elf of yours being willing to run an errand or two? Without telling?"

"I expect so." 

"Good," Draco said decisively. He stepped back. "Call him." 

"Call...."Harry pushed his fringe back. "I usually go to the kitchens--"

"He will hear if you call. I'm certain of it" 

Harry shrugged. "Dobby?" he called tentatively. At Draco's glare, he cleared his throat. "Dobby!" 

With a sharp crack of air, Dobby appeared in front of him. 

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir!" he said delightedly. "You is wanting Dobby?"

"Er, yes," Harry said, suddenly wishing he had done this somewhere else than their secret gathering room. "But before that, I wanted to know -- if I have you do something for me, can you not tell Dumbledore about it? I mean, would you be willing not to, and not have to punish yourself?" 

Dobby's ears fell to half-mast. "Dobby does not _need_ to tell Professor Dumbledore," he said carefully. His eyes rolled to look at Draco. "But Malfoys is having bad secrets--"

"We're not doing anything horrible, Dobby," Harry interrupted. "I mean, it's nothing that Dumbledore would hate, just something he'd rather not find out about, I expect. We're, um, planning a party, and we realized we forgot to get a few things, that's all."

One of the ears came back up. "What things is Master Harry needing?"

"Well, beer, for one," Harry said. "We don't need a lot of it -- maybe a dozen bottles?" 

Dobby looked doubtful. "Is Master Harry knowing who would be drinking this beer?"

Harry thought. "Some of them," he answered slowly. "Seamus Finnigan will," he said. "Ron Weasley, maybe? Millicent Bulstrode...."

"Millicent will have wine," Draco countered. Harry shrugged. 

"She seemed to like beer when I was last in a pub with her." 

Dobby, meanwhile, had made up his mind. With his ears back in their normal positions, he nodded. "Dobby will get beer," he affirmed. "Dobby has a friend at the Three Broomsticks. Dobby will ask his friend which beers will please, and be getting six bottles of each." 

"Great," Harry said. "Anytime before Friday is fine. I'll give you money, of course." 

To his surprise, Dobby's ears went down and his eyes shut. "Dobby is being sorry that it is necessary," Dobby said quickly. "But since Master Harry is not really being Dobby's Master, Dobby cannot go to the goblins for him."

Harry nodded encouragingly. "And you like being a free elf, right? I don't mind giving you the coins; I just don't have them on me. Find me in my dormitory and let me know how much it will be, okay?"

Slowly, Dobby's eyes opened, and he nodded. "Dobby will do as Master Harry wishes," he said. "Is there anything else?"

"Banners," Draco prompted quickly. "And ivy."

Harry shot him a curious look, but then turned back to Dobby. "We were wondering if there were small House banners that we could use for a while without anyone noticing." He framed a size with his hands, noticing as he did so that this "small" was larger than Dobby. "Smaller than the usual ones, anyway." 

Dobby nodded happily. "There is extra banners that Hogwarts is using only for the Leaving Feast. Dobby can bring you those from storage, as long as Master Harry is returning them by summer." Dobby's ears drooped again. "If they is not back, Professor Dumbledore will be asking--" 

"We'll get them back to you," Harry promised. He turned questioningly to Draco. "You wanted ivy?"

"Yes," Draco said. He looked squarely at Dobby. "I want a few cuttings of ivy. Nothing fancy, or dangerous, just a basic ornamental climbing ivy. If you can't get that, I can manage it on my own." 

Dobby turned to Harry. "Dobby is not answering to Malfoys, Master Harry Potter, sir." 

Harry sighed. "Dobby, look -- I can tell you to get ivy, but I wish you'd stop thinking of Draco as just 'a Malfoy.' His father tried to disinherit him, did you know that?"

"Dobby is knowing Lucius Malfoy is no longer Master of his manor." 

"Right. Because he tried to make Draco serve Voldemort, and then he tried to kill Draco when Draco wouldn't, and Draco said that in front of the Wizengamot, and Lucius went to jail."

His eyes widening, Dobby turned to Draco. "You is not serving great evil wizard?"

Draco huffed. "No," he said petulantly. "I'm not. And I'm sorry that I was a brat when I was twelve. Now, would you please bring me some ivy?" 

Dobby's ears quivered, and he bounced up and then bowed deeply. "Dobby will be bringing ivy to not-Master Malfoy," he said happily, and with another sharp crack, he vanished. Draco flopped down on the stiff velveteen sofa as if he had just run twenty laps of the pitch. Harry thought he knew how he felt. 

"Thanks," he said, sitting down next to Draco. "That was getting to be ridiculous." 

With a sigh, Draco leaned against his shoulder. "Agreed," he said. "And I'd say that I'm glad it was that easy, but I have never in my life imagined apologizing to a House Elf, and it really wasn't."

Harry stroked Draco's hair. The softness under his fingers was soothing. "I know."

"Thankfully, yes. Just one of the many reasons that I love you." 

Draco turned, but before they could start to kiss, there was another sharp crack. Draco and Harry twitched apart, and twisted to find Dobby standing between two of the chairs, with a stack of house banners and a ball of ivy cuttings floating in front of him. 

"Is Master Harry and Draco Malfoy wanting anything else?"

Draco's eyes darted rapidly around the room, assessing something, although Harry wasn't sure what. "Yes. A large jug of water, Dobby?"

Dobby nodded, and Harry stepped forward to take the banners. 

"Only water?"

"Only water." 

 

While Harry hung the banners at quarter points on the wall of the round chamber, Draco coaxed little shelves out of it in places. They emerged from the walls in a small curve at the level of his waist, growing up at an angle out to take the form of thick, shallow half-bowls at chest height. Finishing with the Hufflepuff banner, Harry turned to watch as Draco filled the depression in his last one with water, set two ivy cuttings in it, and charmed them to grow until they cascaded down the wall in a fall of green. 

He stepped back, and regarded his work with obvious satisfaction. "How's that?" he asked. He gestured around at the other, empty shelves. "More subtle than flowers, but softening in the same way, I think." 

Harry nodded. "I wouldn't have thought of it like that, but yeah. More, possibly." 

"I'll let the others grow more slowly," Draco decided. "They're more likely to last that way. Help me with the next one?"

 

Thirty minutes later, they collapsed onto the stiff sofa and looked happily around at their work. As seen from the entrance, the Slytherin banner was to the left of the rock heap, and the Gryffindor one to the right. Continuing around, the Ravenclaw banner was next, directly across from Slytherin's, and then, on the other side of the door, Hufflepuff's banner hung across from Gryffindor's. At either side of the room was a fall of ivy, growing with nearly visible speed. Two more -- one of them Draco's finished demonstration piece -- framed the door, and two more tumbled down the rock pile. 

"It's nice," Harry said. 

Draco nodded smugly. 

"Should we send Dobby to look for carpets?"

"Merlin, no!" Draco exclaimed. "That job requires some taste. I'll take a look; I know several of the storerooms now." He turned halfway to face Harry. "We need more invitees, I think." 

"It's not like the original ones ever show up," Harry grumbled, but Draco waved that off. 

"Oh, don't worry about that! They need to be invited again, that's all. But the group was too small, so the awkwardness was too visible. We need more areas of interaction. I'd like to add Linnet and Gilbert, if you have no objections." 

Harry shrugged. "I think that would be okay. Do you trust them?"

"For this," Draco answered. "What about you? Are there Gryffindors you wish to add?" 

Harry sighed. "Well, I'd _like_ to add Ron and Hermione, of course, but Hermione's taking this Head Girl thing awfully seriously. I'm afraid she'll feel obliged to report it, if she thinks there may be trouble. We should probably wait." 

Draco nodded. "Until things are more comfortable. Tell her to come by the official space, though, would you? If she keeps avoiding me, I'm going to forget I liked her." 

"I don't think she's avoiding you more than anyone else," Harry protested. "She's just ... busy." 

"In any case, we're not inviting her now. Should we invite Weasley without her?" 

"Since he already knows about the place, I don't see any harm. And I'd like to invite Ginny Weasley, as well, and Cornelia."

"Your Keeper-turned-Beater?" Draco asked in surprise. 

"Right."

"Does she have connections in other houses?"

"No. And she spends at least some time in the Muggle world, though I think she might have one magical parent." 

"You don't know?" Draco asked incredulously.

"It's never come up -- she just seemed fairly comfortable, at least by the time I noticed. She's steady, though, and I think she'd be interested in the social experiment."

"I'm still ... I can't imagine it not _coming up_ , as you say." 

"Gryffindor." 

"And she's not in your year."

Harry nodded. "And she's a girl, so I pretty much ignored her until she tried out for the team."

"Hm." Draco looked thoughtful. "I have an idea. Let's have her and the Weasleys here for a short visit tomorrow evening, to see how it works. We'll invite Millicent too. It will be an odd group, but all Quidditch players, which gives us a natural topic of conversation. Then on Wednesday, we can bring Linnet and Gilbert, and anyone else we want to add, so by Friday we should know if we've made an error in judgment."

"We should ask Padma if there's a Ravenclaw she'd recommend. She shouldn't be the only one." 

"Yes, and we'll probably need a few Hufflepuffs eventually, but not this week. Let Padma bring a guest, and on Friday, this week's group can debate additions."

"Okay." Harry put an arm around Draco's shoulders and surveyed the room. The ivy had grown another several inches while they had talked, giving the rock pile the air of a scenic ruin. 

"We definitely need a more comfortable sofa," Draco said presently. 

"Definitely," Harry agreed, and pulled him down to prove it. 

 


	22. I Never

 

On the way back to Gryffindor, Harry thought about Draco's assertion that the people they had brought into the Uncommon Room would need to be invited again. Harry thought that was ridiculous, so on his return to the tower, he asked Seamus and Parvati. To his surprise, they agreed with Draco. 

"When you tell someone they can show up at any time, Harry, it's almost like no invitation at all."

"More or less," Seamus said amiably, setting a worn text aside and stretching in a yawn. "I'd feel awkward, at least."

Harry frowned. "All right, then. I'm inviting you for this Friday. After dinner. Everyone should come. We'll treat it as a party."

"Perfect!" Parvati agreed. "Then we can discuss a schedule while we're there." 

Seamus hissed an urgent warning for silence, and Harry looked up. Yolanda was crossing over to them, Sammy trailing reluctantly behind her, his face red. 

With a flush of guilt, Harry summoned a smile. "Hi," he said. "What's up?"

Yolanda crossed her arms over her chest. "We want to know where you are all the time." 

Seamus snorted. "Eh -- this is Harry. It's best not to ask." 

"Oh hush!" Harry said crossly. He looked at Yolanda. "I've been spending my time in the mixed-house sitting room, when it's open. To support it, you know." 

Yolanda gave Sammy a triumphant look. He turned his head to look at the windows. 

"You two should come," Harry said coaxingly. "What if I take you down there tomorrow? No, not tomorrow -- I have a meeting with McGonagall. Wednesday. I can introduce you to people." 

Yolanda looked a little alarmed. "Isn't it mostly older students? What if the Slytherins--"

"No one's going to hurt you," Harry interrupted firmly. "There's always a staff member, and the room is right next to the library, anyway. And there are usually at least a couple of people from each house. One of the Slytherins who's there a lot spends time with his little sister, who's a third-year Hufflepuff, and there's a pair of brothers, one of whom is a first-year in Ravenclaw, I think." 

"All right," Sammy said, raising his chin as he looked back at Harry. "I'll go, even if none of the others do."

"Great!" Harry said. "Meet me at the library after lessons on Wednesday." 

 

"Is everything set?" Draco asked, as they walked up the stairs to Charms the next afternoon. 

"Tonight's guests?" Harry replied. "Yeah. Ron doesn't want to make your truce social, but the girls are in." 

Draco thought for a few steps. "So it's us and girls?"

"Yeah." Harry grinned. "What a waste, eh?" 

Draco laughed. "Millicent hardly counts," he said, and Harry wondered what he would say if he knew how true that was. 

"She's in, then?" he asked, although he knew he could ask her directly in a few hours, when they met for her glamour. 

"Oh, yes. She thought it sounded like a good idea." 

 

When Harry showed up with Ginny and Cornelia, Draco and Millicent were already there. Draco had made a few revisions to the room -- there was a slightly worn, comfy sofa upholstered in a mostly brown brocade, two squashy armchairs in dark blue and white, and a stiffer wingback chair in green and gold. Where he had planned to put the sideboard, he had instead grown a narrow shelf for drinks, and under that, put a small round table for food. Currently, there were six bottles of beer -- two of each kind that Dobby had brought -- and an unopened bottle of wine on the shelf, and cheese and bread on the table. Draco greeted everyone with a handshake and a few words of welcome. When he stepped back, Harry gestured to Millicent. 

"Ginny, this is my friend Millicent."

Ginny offered her hand again, and Millicent took it. "Weasley," she said, but politely enough. 

Ginny made a face. "Sorry, but you can't call me that."

"Oh?"

"It's always ambiguous. 'Miss Weasley' isn't, but it makes feel like everyone's treating me as a child. It will have to be Ginny." 

Millicent nodded and grinned. "Ginny then," she said cheerily. You can call me Mill, if you like." 

Harry, pleased, gestured to Cornelia. "And this is Cornelia." 

Millicent nodded as she shook Cornelia's hand. "Right. Finally got away from the rings and took a real position, I saw." 

Cornelia tensed for a moment, but then got it, or perhaps remembered that Millicent was also a Beater. "Yes. I'm enjoying the action," she replied, and Draco, who had been watching closely, turned to open the wine. 

"It's the only position worth playing." 

"Now, wait a minute!" Draco said over his shoulder. 

"What would you know?" Millicent challenged. "You spend most of the game just watching." 

"And dodging the occasional Bludger," Cornelia put in.

"We do the best dives, though," Harry objected. "And it's all speed." 

" _When_ you're moving," Ginny amended. "And Chasers dive too, with a lot less setup." 

"Oh, there's not always time for setup," Draco objected cheerily. "Anyone else want wine? It's a nice Vouvray."

"I'll have some," Ginny said.

"What else is there?" Millicent asked, wandering over to look at the beer. To Harry's satisfaction, she chose the brown ale. Draco ignored that and smiled at Ginny as he handed her a glass. 

"I'm afraid you're outnumbered. Unintentional on my part, I assure you."

"Harry's having wine too," Ginny protested, as Draco began pouring again.

"As the only Chaser, I mean. There's no one to bolster your arguments."

"Oh, that!" Ginny grinned. "That's all right. I know I'm good." 

Millicent grinned. "Ha! Your problem is that I know it too." 

"That's a problem?"

"I'm the one with the bat." 

Cornelia laughed. Draco passed a plate with some rounds of bread and Cheddar to Millicent, and wordlessly drew Ginny's attention to the cheese. He loitered by the drinks until everyone had food of some sort, and then started over to the sofa, in conversion with Cornelia about why she had decided to switch positions. When he was at one end of the sofa, and Cornelia in one of the chairs, Harry followed, Millicent and Ginny posturing amiably as they trailed behind him. 

 

That had gone fairly well, Harry decided, as the Gryffindor girls left, a few minutes after Millicent's departure. Everyone had seemed to enjoy the visit. For the most part, they had talked about Quidditch, but Ginny had belatedly commented on how good the room looked. They had stayed over the planned hour, but not by much. Still, Harry felt exhausted, for no reason he could name. He collapsed onto the sofa, and watched Draco set his not quite empty glass by the not quite empty cheese board. He looked smug, which Harry supposed he was entitled to.

"I think I get it now," Harry said out loud, as he patted the cushion next to him in invitation. 

"What do you mean?" 

"What my aunt was trying to be," Harry explained. "She failed at it so miserably that I never saw the point. You kept it all working though, didn't you? The perfect host." 

Draco frowned. "But you think it's feminine." 

"I didn't say that!" Harry protested, sitting up. "She was just the one who wanted to. Anyway, does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!" Draco retorted hotly, sitting at the other end of the sofa, his arms crossed. "Image is important." 

"Really? I thought Slytherin was about results."

"Well, yes, but--"

"Listen. You created a space that a mixed group of Slytherin and Gryffindors of different classes and backgrounds found comfortable, and you kept them happy, friendly, and _chatting_ for over an hour. If you're _good_ at something, wouldn't it be stupid not to do it because you thought it was too feminine? What does that _mean_ anyway? Too artistic? Too subtle?" 

Draco glared at him for a moment, but then looked down. "I can't explain it." 

"Do you think that what you are doing is unimportant to what you are trying to accomplish?" Harry demanded.

"No." 

"Then it's a good skill to have, isn't it?" 

Nodding, Draco raised his head. He held out a hand, and smiled when Harry took it. "Thanks." 

Harry grinned. "Any time. If it will make you feel more manly, I can suck your cock after parties." 

Draco choked. "Right." 

"Is that a yes?" 

"I certainly wouldn't say no." 

Lifting his eyebrows, Harry gave Draco's hand a tug. "Better come closer, then." 

 

After renewing Millicent's glamour for the day, Harry went to the library to meet Sammy. As he expected, Yolanda was with him -- and so was Rob. Rob stepped forward immediately. 

"I'm not sure I believe this is a good idea," he said. "If it wasn't you...." 

Harry grinned. "But it is me," he said, "And it will be fine. Come on." 

Madam Pince paused to turn and glare at them. Ducking his head, Harry beckoned to the first-years to follow. To the side, however, movement caught his eye, and he turned to see Hermione stuffing books into her bag. She slid one towards a Ravenclaw. That done, she picked up the remaining two volumes and hurried towards Madam Pince's desk. 

Harry wasn't certain that she wanted _him_ \-- she hadn't waved, or even looked up -- but it didn't seem unlikely, so while he didn't wait, he dawdled, taking a book that was in danger of falling out of Sammy's bag, and then handing it back, and then fussing a little with his own. They weren't three steps down the corridor before Hermione burst out of the library. 

"Harry!" she called out, once safely past the charm that muted outside noises for the library. 

"Yes?" he asked mildly, turning. 

"Where are you going?" 

He grinned at her. "The mixed-house room. Want to come along?" 

"Oh." She looked at him for a moment, until a sudden smile cleared the lines from her brow. "Okay." She took up a place on the other side of Sammy. "Will I be welcome?" she asked uncertainly.

He snorted. "Everyone's welcome. That's the point."

"A lot of Slytherin wouldn't welcome me." 

He shrugged. "Some people in other houses wouldn't either. But they don't show up."

"Ah." Hermione's cheeks turned pink as she smiled. "So it's working as a self-selecting group?"

"Something like that," Harry answered. He stopped at the door to the mixed-house social space. "Okay," he said to everyone. "We're here. Behavior is a little quieter than the Gryffindor Common Room, because we have Ravenclaws, but it's still okay to just hang out and talk, or even to play Exploding Snap, if it's not game after game. Come on." 

 

Considering Draco's interest, Harry wasn't surprised to find him already there. He was sitting with Blaise, who had never been to the room before. Still, Harry supposed that made sense. Blaise wanted very much to return to being friends with Draco, and would certainly come along if asked. Draco looked up almost immediately. 

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, and set aside parchment and quill to greet her. Hermione stood in surprised immobility as he held her arms and kissed her cheek. "So good of you to visit." As far as Harry could tell, his ebullience was sincere. He motioned her to his table. "Would you like to sit with us? I'm working on Arithmancy with Blaise." 

"But you dropped Arithmancy!" 

"I know, but I'd still like to try for the N.E.W.T. I couldn't resist the Cursebreaking class, though, and it _is_ brilliant." Draco had managed to usher Hermione over to his table. With a curious glance at his work, she sat down. A moment later, she was holding forth on something from the text he had open. Blaise leaned across the table to look at the graph she was sketching as she spoke.

"Okay," Harry said to the first-years, keeping his voice low. "I'll catch up with her -- and introduce you to Draco -- later." He looked around the room. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw brothers were present, but he hadn't formally met them, although he had watched them together for a week. Today's staff member was Professor Snape, but he was seated unobtrusively in an alcove and leaning over a large, softbound periodical that Harry recognized from library research as a potions quarterly. His hair fell down in front of his face, and with luck, the kids wouldn't notice him. "Here," Harry said, turning the other way. "Let me introduce you to some people." 

He brought them over to Gilbert and Gloria, counting on Gloria to be as reliable as a Hufflepuff should be, and her brother to be as politically adept as a Slytherin should be. "All right. This is Gloria Clarke and her brother, Gilbert. They're a typical example of people who come here. Gilbert, Gloria, these are some of my new housemates -- Yolanda, Sammy, and Rob. I'm trying to introduce them around before they get the wrong ideas about other houses."

"Hi," Gloria said, holding out her hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said, as she shook Robbie's hand, and then Sammy's. "What lovely hair you have!" she said to Yolanda. Harry couldn't help thinking that she was as socially trained as Draco. Gilbert leaned his chin on a fist. 

"Wrong?" he questioned, ignoring the kids. "It's just spin, you know. I can say you're a reckless fool as easily as a hero. You can say I'm an unreliable turncoat as easily as I'm adaptable." 

Harry looked at him. "Yeah," he said. "I know. But a lot of people go beyond that." 

"True." Gilbert cocked his head to the side. "Any further word on your godfather?"

Harry bit his lip while he calculated what he could say. "No," he answered finally. "But from the coverage, I hope what I said had some effect." 

"Godfather?" Yolanda asked. 

"Sirius Black." 

"Black!" Yolanda exclaimed

"Didn't you know?" Rob answered. "I thought you read things."

Sammy's eyes went to first one side then the other as he looked at each of them. "Who's Sirius Black?" he asked, confused.

"He's a notorious escaped criminal, who killed a lot of people--"

"Except Harry says he's not," Rob interrupted. "Don't you, Harry?"

When Yolanda, wide-eyed, turned to him, Harry nodded. "Yeah. We met once, and I think he was set up. I can't say more, right now, because it's under investigation, but.... Yeah." 

"It's been in the _Daily Prophet_ ," Rob said, exasperated. "Kath was talking about it, because she thinks Harry is--" With an apologetic glance at Harry, he ducked his head. "Well, too willing to think the best of people." 

"There's nothing wrong with that!" Gloria burst out. She and her brother looked at each other. He sighed.

"As long as you're not foolish about it," he qualified. Blushing, she nodded acceptance.

"I seem to be getting farther with it than I did when I thought Sn--" Harry remembered suddenly that Snape was there. "-- Professor Snape was trying to kill me, and Draco was the Heir of Slytherin." 

Draco demonstrated that he was listening by bursting out laughing. After a moment, so did Blaise and Gilbert.

" _You_ are the Parselmouth, darling," Draco answered mockingly. 

"Oh, you didn't really!" Blaise protested. 

"I did! Ron and I polyjuiced into Crabbe and Goyle, and tried to pump him for information." Harry laughed. "Of course, it's hard to lead the conversation when you're supposed to be that dumb." He shot Draco a teasing glance. "Fortunately, he was a little braggart at that age. We were pretty sure he told us everything he knew."

Gilbert leaned forward. "You tricked a Slytherin?" he asked incredulously. He looked over at Draco. "Is that true?" 

Draco shrugged. "I have no reason to think it wasn't. When I asked Vince, he confirmed that they'd woken up in a broom closet, after eating some floating cupcakes." 

"Sleeping Solution," Hermione put in. "I was the brewer." 

"For the Polyjuice, too," Harry explained. 

"You helped!" she chided.

"Yeah, right -- I ground the lacewings, just like you told me to." 

A number of people laughed. Harry thought he even heard a snort from Snape, who had tilted his head up just enough to watch. That set him to appraising the others. Rob still looked thoughtful, but Yolanda was eagerly curious. Sammy had stepped back from the group, probably lost by the conversation, and was watching the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw brothers, who were sitting at the next sofa. They had a slightly familiar-looking board game set on the coffee table in front of them, but rather than playing, they were watching Harry and his group.

"Hi," Harry said, waving at them. They both blushed, but the Hufflepuff braced himself and waved back. In a step, Harry was at the other side of the table. "That looks familiar," he said. "Is it a Muggle game?" 

With an anxious look at the Slytherins, the older boy nodded. 

"It's Parcheesi," Sammy explained, joining Harry. "Where did you get it?" he asked the boys. 

"We had Dad send it from home when this room opened," the Hufflepuff said. "It just came this morning. Want to play? We're not very far along."

The Ravenclaw nodded. "You could take three turns in a row and be even." 

"All right," Sammy said, sitting in a chair to the side. "Do you want to play, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know how."

"You didn't play Parcheesi?"

"No, it's--" Harry didn't want to explain that he wouldn't have been allowed to play, even if his cousin had owned the game. "My cousin was the sort of kid who'd upend a board game if he wasn't winning, so he didn't really learn any of them, and didn't like them."

"But you could have played with friends." 

"I wasn't -- wasn't supposed to leave the house." _Or my cupboard, usually._ "I'll watch; maybe I'll play next time." Still, he sat down, observing as Sammy took his catch-up turns. He seemed to be able to split up the dice rolls to distribute as he wished. One particular move put two of his pieces on the same tile, and they suddenly began to glow, causing Sammy to snatch his hand back. 

"Hey!"

"Oh, sorry. Dad charmed the set to do that."

"Otherwise, it's normal." 

"Okay." Sammy's hand came back slowly. "Your dad is a wizard, then?" he asked quietly. Harry glanced around to see the response to this. Gilbert was openly curious, Gloria startled, and Snape's eyes gleamed through the fall of his hair. Draco and Hermione had seemingly returned to discussing Arithmancy equations, and were too preoccupied to notice. A few other people were watching. More weren't. 

"Yeah, but we didn't know when we were little. Mum's a Muggle, and we lived in a Muggle neighborhood, and they were afraid we'd say something." 

The Ravenclaw sniffed contemptuously. "As if little kids can't keep secrets. I don't know why grown-ups think that." 

"Eventually, I did some strange enough accidental magic that they had to tell me," the Hufflepuff explained. "It was rather awful." To the side, Harry saw Gloria flinch. The boy held out his hand to Sammy. "I'm Eric, by the way. In third year." 

"Sammy," Sammy said, shaking. "First." 

"First too!" said the younger boy. "I'm Jacob. Do you have any magical relatives?"

 Sammy shook his head. "Not that I know of," Sammy said. "When I did accidental magic, my parents thought I was lying."

Harry nodded. "My aunt and uncle claimed they did, though they knew perfectly well, so I got in trouble anyway."

"That's awful!" Jacob exclaimed. 

Harry shrugged. "They don't like magic -- or anything else that's not 'normal' for their life. I think Aunt Petunia really hated my mum." He looked curiously at Sammy. "What happened when they found out? When you got your Hogwarts letter, I mean?"

"Yeah," Jacob asked. "Did they apologize?"

"For what?"

"For calling you a liar." 

"Oh." Sammy's brow furrowed. "Not really. Dad said he was glad there was _some_ explanation. Mum was busy protesting that I couldn't go away to school; she's not a boarding school sort of mum, really."

Eric nodded. "I remember my mum and dad talking about that. There are so few witches and wizards that local schools just aren't practical, so it's a different sort of thing, for us." 

"I didn't know any of this!" Gloria burst out, coming over to stand next to Harry's chair. She glared across the board at Eric. "And if you say 'us', why was it horrible to find out?"

"It..." Eric struggled for a moment. "It wasn't _finding out_ that was bad; it was ... how they acted about it. They didn't want me afraid, but they also didn't want me thinking that anything that I wished would happen." He looked down at the Parcheesi board. "So it was all this 'you must _never, ever_ tell, or let anyone suspect, or you might be taken away from us, and locked up for being insane, and if we try to help you, we could lose your brother -- and all that. I...." he swallowed. "It was really hard to talk about magic when I came here, even when I was supposed to." 

"I remember," Gloria said. "I spent all of first year thinking you were an idiot. You wouldn't answer even the simplest questions." 

"It was easier for me," Jacob volunteered. "I could tell he was lying to me, so I listened when he was with Dad, until I knew enough to pretend I knew more, and then I got the rest out of him."

"And he could keep a secret perfectly well," Eric put in, somewhat bitterly.

Harry looked between them. "Did you tell your parents?"

Jacob shrugged. "Not until my first accidental magic -- or, well, first one I was sure of. I blew up my Gameboy, and I was so thrilled that I was magical too that I didn't even care. I ran down to show Dad, and said "Look! I'm a wizard -- I was mad at it, and it just exploded!" 

Eric laughed. "That was a month before I started Hogwarts, and I think they were relieved they didn't have to keep coming up with reasons for why I was going away, and why he couldn't come to London for my school shopping."

"And then, of course, I could!" 

"But I got scolded for not telling them he'd known." 

"That's ridiculous!" Gloria exclaimed. She looked at Sammy. "And you're Muggleborn? Really, completely?" 

Sammy scuffed his shoe along the floor. "Yeah. What of it?"

"Don't be like that!" she protested, rolling her eyes. "I'm just curious." She looked quizzically at Harry. "You're not, though. I _know_ both of your parents were magical. You're a _Potter_ , which is as old a family as mine, and your mother was a Muggleborn witch." 

"Yeah," he said, "but when they died, I went to my closest living relative, which was my mother's sister. Professor Dumbledore thought it would be safer for me to grow up among Muggles." 

"Muggles, fine, but ones who hated magic?" she protested. 

Harry shrugged. "I didn't say he was _right_. Though to be fair, he said he thought it would be _safer_ , not more pleasant." 

Gilbert shifted in his chair. Harry thought he posed rather like a television talk show host. "How do you wish you'd grown up?"

"With the Weasleys," Harry said promptly. "Or Sirius -- he promised to take me in if his name was ever cleared, though I suppose that doesn't matter anymore." He shook his head, realizing what he had left out. "Though if I'm _wishing_ , with my mum and dad, of course."

"But someone magical."

Harry thought about it. "Ideally," he admitted. "But anyone who cared about me would've done." 

 

"That was an interesting display, yesterday," Snape said neutrally, as Harry took a seat in his office.

"Display?" 

"With the Mugglebo--" Snape stopped. "Sorry, Muggle- _raised_ students." 

"Oh." Harry leaned back, belying the way his heart sped up. Would this dangerous topic destroy his short alliance with Snape? "I've become interested in it. Hermione is so ..." He grimaced -- " _something_ that I felt like I was an oddity. It's reassuring to find other kids had the same problems, even when the people raising them didn't hate them."

"By 'problems,'" Snape clarified, "you mean accidental magic."

"And being treated as a liar," Harry answered fiercely, "or a freak, or both." 

"Interesting," Snape said sardonically.

"What?"

"Your insistence on being believed takes on a whole new context." 

Harry heated, but did not reply.

"What did you do?" Snape asked, more mildly. "For magic, I mean." Harry looked away. 

"Ended up on the shed roof, when their bully of a son was chasing me," he said. "Made my hair grow back when my aunt cut it. Healed my arm, when it broke." He grinned. "Made the glass disappear, when he was harassing a snake in the zoo -- they might have had cause to be upset at that one. It didn't hurt him, though, and it wasn't like I knew I was doing it. It just _happened_." 

Snape's eyebrows rose. "Did you _speak_ to this snake?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry laughed tensely. "Last I saw, he was headed for Brazil." 

Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You are a very odd boy, Potter." He choked out something that might have been a laugh. "They must have been terrified, if they understood even a fraction of the significance." Dismissing the matter with a quick wave, he sat down behind the desk. "On to business," he said. "Have you completed the reading I assigned?" 

"Er, yes, sir," Harry answered. "I'm afraid I don't have your book. Neville was in the dormitory, so I didn't have a chance to retrieve it." 

"Understood," Snape answered. "Do you wish to learn the spell?" 

"I'm not sure." Harry looked away. "I feel like I ought to be able to manage without it. And then, of course, there are the Quiris...." 

"Yes, of course." Snape steepled his hands in front of his chin. "Do you know there is a spell to physically repel them?" He smiled thinly. "Of course, if you cast it, you need to." 

"So it's Dark Arts as well?" Harry returned, amused.

"Yes. In its purest form. You focus Dark energies into a physical push. The end result, reputedly, is that of a particularly violent Disarming hex."

"Maybe you should teach me that one." 

Snape eyed him mockingly. "And how would you cast it? Oddly, Potter, you need to have _performed_ Dark Arts -- recently enough to set off a Quiri -- in order to repel a Quiri with Dark Arts. It's really a most curious spell."

Harry laughed. "Well, let me think about it. If I decide I'm going to learn anything else, I definitely think that one should come with it."

"Very well."

"Is there any progress on Nott?"

"I do not represent the MLE, Potter." 

"But you said you'd talk to Narcissa Malfoy." 

"Ah, _that_ sort of progress." Snape's lip curled. "I have alluded to the potential threat." 

"That's all?" Harry asked, outraged.

"She was a Slytherin, Potter. These things must be done with care. She will be more amenable to an alliance if she believes the thought was her own."

"Oh." 

"Speaking of which, she is concerned about her son's attachment to you."

"I'll bet," Harry huffed.

"Politically, you are too good an opportunity to let pass, but she is afraid that his expressed willingness to marry is but a ploy to put her off."

Harry scowled. "Not unless it's a ploy to make me jealous." That was an enticing thought, and he entertained it for a second or two. "But it's not," he concluded bitterly. "I'm temporary." 

Snape shrugged. "So he believes," he remarked. "That may not always be true. You must stay _aware_ , Potter, not be blinded by your expectations." 

Snape, Harry thought, had a lot of gall to give him that advice -- but then, perhaps it came from mistakes made. "I'll try," he said, managing not to sigh. "Do we have time to talk about Death Eaters?"

Snape's eyebrows came up. "In general, or are you interested in specific individuals?"

"Both, I suppose. I've been meaning to ask you since the trial -- Talbot said he was coerced, but I thought--"

"That you'd believe him?"

"No, I don't, really, but I was wondering if that was even possible. I have the impression that Death Eaters are sort of inner circle, not at all the bulk of his supporters. Is that true?"

When Snape had answered with a dignified nod, Harry continued. "So he wouldn't choose people who weren't willing -- or at least didn't pretend to be willing." 

Snape nodded. "Exactly. That defense was -- and always has been -- complete nonsense. Someone who needed to be brought into line with threats would not be made a Death Eater." He raised his head. "However, a Death Eater who _became_ reluctant might be kept in line in such a manner for some time before being killed. I have the luxury of having successfully deserted only because I have the protection of Dumbledore and of Hogwarts."

Harry was about to ask if he never left, when he realized that was absurd. Snape had not only been at the trial, but had visited him at Privet Drive more than once. "But you leave here." 

"Occasionally," Snape admitted. "Although I may seem reclusive, I also am not well-suited to staying where I belong. However, I am careful to leave infrequently, and following no pattern. I do not walk to Hogsmeade." 

 

"Where have you been?" Draco demanded, when he ran into Harry coming up the stairs from Snape's office. His face darkened, and he frowned. "Never mind," he said, before Harry could speak. "Come for a walk with me." 

Harry thought they would go to the Uncommon Room, but Draco led him to the storeroom. Ten minutes later, they were sitting on their plastic sofa in the Chamber of Secrets. 

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. 

"Don't play the fool with me. You were coming up from the dungeons." 

Harry shrugged. "I'd been talking to your spellfather."

"Talking," Draco repeated caustically. "About what? Dark Arts?"

"For a few minutes," Harry said. "Then we talked about your mother, and then about Death Eaters, and then he had me practice casting spells with his wand."

"What?" Confusion pushed out suspicion in Draco's queries. "Why?" 

"We started that when he was still a spy, and more likely to be around if I was captured, but even now..." Harry shrugged. Draco must understand that he'd be disarmed before anyone else. "He thinks I should do it with you, as well -- we should get used to casting with each others'." 

Draco looked thoughtful. "You can't do that too often...." 

"Yeah, he explained that. But a little doesn't hurt, he said, and might help if one of us had to pick up the other's wand in a fight." 

Draco nodded, and then sighed. "Being friends with you holds more dangers than I ever thought I'd face."

"Your life wouldn't have been safe anyway."

"True," Draco said gloomily, "but I'd _thought_ it would be." 

They sat in silence for a moment. Harry felt like the isolation in the set of Draco's shoulders was somehow his fault.

"So," he tried, "do you think we can consider all the new Uncommon Room invitees safe?"

Draco shook himself slightly, like a duck emerging from water, and straightened. "Most likely. Certainly, if no one has disturbed the room or come to question us by the time we should be in our houses."

Harry nodded. "I thought the Wednesday gathering went well," he offered. "Not as obviously so as the Quidditch players, but...." 

Draco snorted. "Ravenclaws are less boisterous," he pointed out. "And my housemates, of course, adapted."

"Successfully," Harry interrupted. "Padma and Sophia thought they were reasonable." 

"Perhaps because they _are_." 

Harry shrugged. "I'm not saying they aren't. Linnet seems okay, and Gilbert is ... well, interesting. Not bad." 

"How kind of you to say so." 

"Oh, don't be snotty about it!" Harry protested. "I _like_ them, all right? But whatever you say about their adaptability, you _managed_ them." 

Draco, to his surprise, looked away.

"Draco?"

"It's kind of you to say so," Draco said, not as all as if it was, "but I would have made a disaster out of the first gathering, if you hadn't told me what I was about to do wrong." 

Harry shrugged. "So?" 

"So your reassurances ring hollow in the face of that." 

"What?" Finding Draco still steadfastly looking away, Harry bumped against him. "Yeah, I told you what you had wrong. And from a few words of information, you _fixed_ it. I had no idea how to fix it without making it, you know, _stupid_. But you had a new sense of it in minutes, and the room was damn near perfect by the next day. That's not me, Draco -- that's _you_. You with adequate information." 

 

On Friday, Harry and Draco skipped dinner and prepared the Uncommon Room instead. They added a second, slightly more formal sofa at angles to the first, and had the room warm and the sideboard ready by the time the first guests arrived. 

 

Parvati paused a step into the room. After a moment, Seamus nudged her to the side. 

"Let the rest of us in, love," he teased. 

Sidestepping out of the way, she gestured at the room. "But did you see? It's lovely! I was wondering what on earth Padma was talking about. Padma," she called over her shoulder, "it wasn't like this when I saw it." 

Harry grinned. "Draco put some work into it, earlier in the week." 

"Ooo, it was you?" Parvati said, batting her eyelashes at Draco. "I should have known. Harry doesn't have it in him." 

Draco shot Harry a look before returning her smile. "Oh, Harry did help," he said graciously. "Mainly by vetoing things, I must admit...." 

"Hey," Harry protested, settling at one end of the sofa, with his arm stretched along the back. "That first sofa wasn't nearly comfortable enough." 

Parvati giggled. "I expect it was beautiful, though."

"Oh, yeah. Elegant." 

She settled on the newest addition, a cream colored sofa, and Seamus joined her. Since they were meeting after dinner, Harry and Draco had decided on cheese and sweeter afters for food; Draco had arranged for the cakes and tarts to be bite-sized, and added a scattering of grapes and gooseberries to each platter. There was one of each type of platter on the coffee table, in reach of both sofas and one of the chairs, and smaller plates on the little round table, which was now set between two of the other chairs. 

"Does anyone want wine?" he asked. "We have a Vouvray, and claret."

"Oh, let me help," Parvati said, jumping up, and making Harry feel rather foolish for not having thought of that himself.

"Is there any beer?" Seamus asked, with a hint of challenge. Draco couldn't entirely repress a smirk. 

"Whately's Best Bitter, Deer Island Brown Ale, and Plunkett's Irish Stout." 

"You have Plunkett's?" Seamus asked, astounded. "That, then." 

Everyone settled, with a little more talk than last time, much of it centering on what a nice touch the ivy was, and regrets at having eaten too much at dinner, but with some references to lessons. Eventually, however, the group stumbled over one of those strange lulls in which all conversations fail at the same time. Harry watched people glance around the room and wondered how to get things going again. 

"You know what we should do?" Parvati said brightly, forestalling the need. "We should play some sort of parlor game, for getting to know each other better."

The Slytherins looked at her like she'd grown another head. So did her sister. 

"What," Seamus exclaimed, "Charades, you mean?" 

"Or more like Truth or Dare?" Harry put in. 

"Oh!" Parvati bounced. "Have you played it, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "No. I overheard my cousin and his friends play once, but the third dare was to kill one of the neighbor's cats, so...."

"So you stopped listening and saved the cat," Ginny guessed. 

"Well, yeah. But I couldn't herd them all out of reach -- the cats, I mean -- so I had to get in the way, and then it turned into a ... a different game." Harry made a face. Everyone but the Gryffindors and Draco was staring at him now. He shrugged and looked away. Draco cleared his throat. He eyed Parvati with exaggerated suspicion. 

"What are the rules of this game? Does it usually involve killing cats?" 

"I thought it was more kissing and things." Parvati blushed. "Well, it was in a novel I read, about this witch who spends a summer with her Muggle cousins." 

Padma rolled her eyes. " _Everything_ involves kissing in the novels you read." 

Draco smirked. "I reiterate that we should invite Pansy." He looked at Harry. "So. Rules?" 

"Um, you choose truth or dare, and then you either get asked an embarrassing question or made to do something." 

"Without knowing what the two options are?" Linnet asked, her nose wrinkling. 

"Well, yes. It's rather stupid, really." 

"Hm." Millicent considered. "I can see some point, if you were told both and then had to choose." 

"Not something I'd like to try in either case," Padma said. 

Parvati bit her lip. "There was another one called I Never." 

Draco looked at Harry. Harry shrugged. "Go on," he encouraged Parvati. "I've never heard of it." 

"Um...." She blushed. "Well, one person states that they've never done something, and if they're lying, they take a drink -- everyone has drinks -- and so does everyone else who's done it."

Blaise sat back, stroking his chin as if he had a little beard. "Hm. Well, that would certainly speed up getting acquainted." 

Seamus set his head -- and beer -- down. "Not for drinks," he said. 

"But I think that's part of the point," Parvati argued. "That you become less careful as you get more drunk."

Measuring glances shot across the rough circle like a rain of darts. 

"No," Padma said. "That would require there be more trust to begin with." 

"And we couldn't really play enough rounds," Harry put in practically, tilting his claret. He hadn't finished the glass, but it still counted, if he was then required to drink more. "Not unless it was little sips." 

"Shots," Parvati said, blushing. 

"And at that, done too fast, we could get someone killed," Seamus said harshly, looking hard at Harry.

Blaise snorted. "Are you sure you're Irish?"

"Are you sure you want a bloody nose?" 

"Hold it," Harry said, throwing a warning glare at Blaise, who smirked. "Calm down." He smiled apologetically at Seamus. "They think anything I do must be the way of Gryffindors." 

"I don't!" Draco declared, tossing his head. "You are the mad king of Gryffindors, I'm quite certain." 

"Right," Harry answered, restraining his sarcasm to a twist of his lip. "Which is why Seamus is protective of me."

"You!" Blaise exclaimed. "I thought you'd outlast the rest of us." 

"I'm not in practice," Harry shot back. 

"And I know who everyone will go after," Seamus said darkly.

"Seamus, I don't think they know me well enough to aim." 

"Well, it doesn't matter!" Padma broke in. "I won't do it for drinks!" 

" _Fine,_ " Parvati said. "Honestly, the lot of you! I don't care about the drinks!" 

"But there has to be something." It was Ginny Weasley, with that dangerous gleam in her eye that always reminded Harry of the twins. "Something that accumulates, and is both penalty and prize." 

"Hm." Linnet took on a coy look. "Spankings?"

Harry choked. Gilbert stared at her in horror. 

"We could do that," Padma agreed. 

"Oh, right!" Harry exclaimed. "If you want every glass in the room to shatter as soon as someone lays a hand on me!"

"That good?" Blaise asked. 

"No." Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "That bad. I do _not_ submit to attacks." 

Ginny sniffed. "Unless you're protecting someone." 

"Or you don't notice," Millicent added. She and Ginny grinned at each other.

"Ooo!" Parvati bounced again. "I have it!" 

Harry was amused to notice how warily everyone looked at her. 

"Beads!" she said brightly, transfiguring a wad of parchment into a white bead. "And every time you get a bead, you have to string it on something -- a necklace or bracelet."

"I'm not really in the market for new jewelry," Gilbert said sarcastically.

Her shoulders twitched up happily. "But that's it! You _have_ to wear it. Showing. And you can't tell anyone why. And when you have to take a bead, everyone else gets to vote on the color." 

Draco glanced around. Harry suspected he was tallying allies. "The person who led the round chooses color," he amended.

"All right." 

Linnet let out a little huff of a laugh. "We'll look like a club." 

"Exactly!" Parvati said, delighted. "And won't that mystify the rest of the school?" 

Padma coughed. Seamus snorted. In seconds, everyone was laughing, including Harry. Every time he started to get over it, he met someone's eyes and imagined the confusion that would result from people trying to decide what they all had in common, and he would start to laugh again. It was quite some time before the general hilarity subsided. 

"All right," Draco said finally, throwing himself dramatically back and swinging his legs over the arm of the couch. "I think we are in agreement. I'll make the beads, though -- Transfiguration is too unreliable." Sitting up, he reached for the bottle of Vouvray and topped off the glasses of those who were drinking it, tipping the last drops into his own. Still holding the bottle, he met Harry's eyes with a lift of his eyebrows. Harry nodded. 

"Shield spells's yours," Draco remarked, and Harry drew his wand. The others looked at them curiously. With a vicious grin, Draco hurled the bottle against the wall. Harry, through a wash of heat and the bright sound of screams, fired a Shield spell after it. Broken glass ricocheted between the stones and the charm with a rattle like a wave crashing on a pebble beach. 

Quite suddenly, the room was silent.

"Morrigan!" Seamus swore. "You two are mad!"

"Do tell," Draco drawled. "This has only now come to your attention?"

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Hardly." 

The others watched Draco melted the sharp fragments of glass and spun them into smooth orbs, their interest gradually shifting from the anxious alertness to simple fascination. Harry transfigured one of Sophia's knitting needles into something three times the length, a third the width, and hard steel, and he summoned half-molten balls of glass onto it, piercing them. When they finished, the marble bowl in the center of the table was full of clear glass beads, and the others in the room were all strangely silent. 

"So," Harry said cheerily. "Who starts?" 

There was a moment in which everyone sat frozen by his words. "Parvati should, I think," Padma said finally. Harry wasn't sure if it was sisterly loyalty, or that Parvati was sitting to her left. No one objected though, and Harry raised his glass in an approving salute, and Parvati started. 

"I ...hm." She smiled brightly. "I've never kissed a girl," she said, and then, with a triumphant smile, took out a bead from the bowl, and turned it pink. 

It was at least an intense pink, rather than a light one. All the boys took one, as did Millicent, Ginny, and Cornelia, and consented to the same bright pink. Sophia spun strong cords out of her yarn, and they all strung them. 

"Ginny?" Harry asked curiously, and Ginny composed herself into a mock-proper stance, legs crossed neatly over at the knee, and hands folded. 

"A lady never tells," she said, and Seamus laughed and punched her on the shoulder. 

Seamus was next. He looked around at the people without beads -- Padma, whom Harry thought he must know well, Linnet, and Sophia. "I've never worn eyeliner," he said, and crossing his arms over his chest, sat back. 

All the girls took one this time, as -- to Harry's surprise -- did Draco and Gilbert. 

"Don't ask," Draco said dramatically. "It was a traumatic experience."

"Two older sisters," Gilbert explained.

"Hm." Seamus held his wand over a bead. "Pink has already been taken...."

"Smoke, of course!" Parvati said, and with a laugh, he obliged her. The grey was only slightly glittery. 

Next came Linnet. She drew a finger in a spiral through the bowl. 

"I have never considered serving You-Know-Who," she said, and Draco, Blaise, and Gilbert had to take beads. She made them black, not green. 

"It needs to be considered," Gilbert said boldly. "But it was clearly a bad idea." Blaise nodded at him. 

"I noticed that," he said, and Draco snorted. 

"Even I noticed eventually, and I was a damned sight more indoctrinated than either of you." 

Draco was next. He took a swallow of wine and leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I," he said, with his eyes dancing over Harry, "have never stolen from a Muggle girl." 

"Git!" Harry exclaimed, snatching a bead from the bowl. "It was _your_ dare!" 

"So you let him give you dares, do you?" Seamus challenged. Several people were frowning at Harry. Cornelia was the only other person to take a bead, and Harry was fairly sure she had been raised among Muggles. Draco turned the beads a lurid green, and it was Harry's turn. 

"I," he said precisely, "have never rescued a Muggle child from a flooded river." 

With a snort, Draco took a bead. "Overly specific," he argued, as Harry turned it gold. 

"Nonetheless. As I am yours, you are mine." 

Draco swallowed, his indignation suddenly gone. "Yes." 

They kissed. Seamus groaned, and Parvati cooed, but Harry didn't let either bother him. "Ginny?" he prompted. 

"Hm." Ginny looked around at the strings of beads. Seamus, Linnet, Sophia, and Padma had only one apiece. "I," she declared, "have never fallen asleep in the library." 

The Ravenclaw girls took beads in their house blue, but so did Harry, Draco, and Linnet. 

"Harry?" Ginny asked pointedly. 

"It was nearly dawn, and I'd sneaked into the Restricted Section," Harry protested. 

"Ah."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Merlin forefend he should care about his marks." 

"Your turn, Millicent," Harry urged. 

"Hm." Millicent's small eyes darted from person to person. Harry wondered what she was evaluating. Seamus had the fewest beads, with one, but Blaise and most of the girls had only two. Draco was only missing only the green he gave to Harry, giving him five. Cornelia, Gilbert, and Harry had three. 

Apparently, she wasn't interested in evening the field. "I never had a birthday party with conjured trees growing marzipan fruit."

Draco glared at her. "Obviously, I shouldn't have invited _you_ ," he said frostily. 

"Every Slytherin family and every pureblood family with a child within three years of your age was there," Millicent returned. "Otherwise, who would you have had to show off to?"

"Hold a moment," Seamus said. "The first little joust was entertaining enough, but I think challenges crafted for one person will be boring."

A few people nodded agreement. "Should we add a rule?" Sophia suggested. 

Harry wanted to agree, but wasn't sure it would work. "How would we draw the line, though?" 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if she'd said 'I've never had a private Quidditch pitch,' or 'I've never evaded a dragon'? Those would be just as targeted, but they're not as, um...." 

"Contrived," Sophia offered. "Yes, that's it -- contrived. I think either of your examples would be acceptable." 

Harry expected that to end the matter, but Padma looked intrigued as she leaned forward. "How do we define the difference?"

"We don't," Sophia answered. "We allow people to challenge, if they're the only one to take a bead, and then we vote." 

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And have people challenge all the time?"

"If you loose the challenge, you get a larger bead," Parvati suggested. People were nodding, but Harry remembered how Draco had rejected the idea of majority rule earlier, when suggesting how colors should work. 

"If you loose by more than two votes," he amended. That would require more than a split along house lines. Draco gave him an approving nod.

Ginny nodded acceptance, Padma sniffed in contained amusement, and Sophia called a vote. The new rule passed. 

"I challenge the question," Draco said. 

"I asked it _before_ the rule," Millicent said stubbornly. 

"Just pick a new question," Harry urged.

"Oh -- I can do that?"

"We didn't say, did we?" Sophia mused. "Yes -- you get one more try. Just one, though." 

"All right," Millicent said. She surveyed the group for a moment. "I've never played Quidditch with a family member," she said, and didn't take a bead. Seamus, Linnet, Draco, Ginny, Gilbert, and Sophia did. Millicent made them all a transparent sunny yellow. No one commented when a few of them took her two tries.

"Never?" Draco asked.

"Mother says I'm oversized enough without building up muscles on purpose." 

Harry burst out laughing. Draco winced at that, but Millicent just grinned at him. 

"What, Potter -- don't you think I'm a little lady?"

"Of course you are. And I'm the poor, weepy boy that Skeeter was writing about during the tournament." 

"Blaise?" someone prompted. 

Blaise was next. "Hm." He scanned the group. "I've never been in the Forbidden Forest without a pro-- member of staff."

Harry and Draco looked at each other, shrugged, and reached for the bowl. So did Ginny, Cornelia, Millicent, Parvati, and Padma. 

"Millicent?" Draco asked, his eyebrows raised. 

She looked away. "I wanted to see a unicorn again."

Parvati nodded. "Me too," she confessed.

"And she had to drag me along," Padma complained, but she smiled fondly at her twin. 

"I'm more surprised by Draco," Blaise said, leaning forward. For a moment, Harry thought he would take a bead also, but he was just reaching for his wine. 

"I was with Harry, of course." 

Which was true for one occasion, Harry thought, but implied that he, not Draco, had led. He shivered, remembering the ghost, and the strange elation that had followed commanding it. 

Gilbert smoothed the brown waves of his hair as he looked around. "My turn," he announced. His gaze locked on to Harry. "I've never had a family member who was a Death Eater," he said levelly, and sat back. 

"Prat," Draco groused, and took a bead. "Black?"

"Can you do it black and white?" 

"Of course."

"I'd say sinister, but that would only work from one angle." 

Draco laughed, but he made the division on a diagonal from the side. 

"Hold it," Seamus said. "Only _one_ of you has a family member who's a Death Eater?" 

Blaise shrugged. "We are referring to immediate family, I assume." 

"I'm still not sure I believe that," Seamus pressed. 

"Finnigan," Millicent said in a bored tone, "this is a hand-picked group."

"And it isn't as if my family didn't support the Dark Lord until fairly recently," Gilbert said. "My father simply wasn't willing to risk life, freedom, and fortune in that support." His mouth twisted up on one side. "And then there were last year's massacres, and Mother decided he -- You-Know-Who -- was an embarrassment to pureblood Britain." 

Seamus crossed his arms over his chest. "But you could all be lying, now, couldn't you?" 

"We could, perhaps, use minor truth magic," Sophia suggested. "Something that doesn't let you lie, but lets you not answer. _Veritas_ would do."

"Then we'd have to have people say no." 

"Hold it," Harry objected. "I'd like to be able to avoid a question if I need to." 

"Dishonestly?" Gilbert asked, sounding a bit intrigued. 

"Well, yeah. I mean, what if it's...." He couldn't say 'something that will get me sent to Azkaban.' Draco stepped in for him. 

"Something strategically important, Harry? Yes, that might be an issue. However, Gilbert was letting you know something, with this challenge. You must see the value of that."

"Was that what he was doing? I thought he was just going after you." 

Gilbert looked startled. Draco sighed. "Don't worry, Clarke -- I would have explained it to him later." 

"Maybe another challenge rule?" Ginny suggested. "If someone doesn't believe a response, including silence, they can request a quick truth spell, and then if everyone agrees that it's not dangerous--"

"How is that not dangerous?" Harry asked furiously. "If you had a brother who was involved in something illegal, and no one knew but you, how would it not be _dangerous_ \-- to him, to you, to listeners -- to be forced to admit it?"

"Maybe we should just agree that we'll stay away from illegal activities?" Padma asked tentatively. 

"Oh, that's no fun," Blaise protested. 

"But Harry has a point," Millicent said. "Here, how about we just don't ask questions about the war?" 

"War?" Sophia asked, sounding baffled, just as Harry said "I'm not sure that's possible." 

"I have it," Draco said. "I think we do need some minor truth magic, now that it's been explicitly pointed out that lying is possible, but in counter to that, we also need a secrecy charm."

Harry shook his head. This was far too much fretting about rules. He wondered if Slytherin and Ravenclaw games were all like this.

"So," Draco continued, "to take Harry's example, if he discovered that one of Ginny's brothers had killed someone, he could bring his suspicion out of here, and he could try to uncover evidence, but he could not tell people he knew this." 

"But that's no fun either!" Parvati objected. "Now I know that Harry's fallen asleep in the library, maybe I want to tease him about it. Isn't the point to be become better friends?"

"I think the problem is that so many of us aren't friends," Seamus countered. 

"Right," Harry said, sitting up. "So Parvati is _right_. No truth magic. Why would anyone want to lie anyway? I don't think any of us object to having a mysterious string of beads. The only secrecy charms should be that you can't tell anyone outside this room about the Game, or what beads mean." 

"You should be able to tell one or two of your own, I think," Parvati amended. "As a teaser." 

"Okay," Harry consented. "What it means that you have it -- but not about the Game." 

Parvati beamed. "Do we all agree?" she asked. 

They didn't, but people slowly gave in. Linnet pointed out that they had all been enjoying the game until they had started thinking about rules. 

"Is it my turn, then?" Sophia asked, and there was a relieved chorus of assent. "I've never," she said, "used someone's house affiliation as an insult." 

She took a bead. In a muddle of reaching and pinching fingers, everyone else did as well. 

"Color?" Harry asked wryly. 

"The house colors -- both, as exactly as you can manage -- of whichever house you have most often disparaged in that manner." 

Quietly, Harry turned his bead green and silver. He was not surprised to see that all of his housemates had done the same. He reached past Ginny to tap Millicent's bead, adding gold flecks to the red she had managed, and she nodded curtly. 

"And now we know where we stand," Padma said, "so we can try to do better." Her bead, Harry noted, was Hufflepuff colors, but Sophia's was red and gold. "With that in mind...." She smiled mischievously. "I've never been homesick." 

There was another scramble for beads. 

"Harry?" Linnet asked.

Ginny glared. "Drop it." 

"No, it's ...." Harry set a hand placatingly on Ginny's arm, and she relaxed. 

"Sorry." 

"The place I lived was nothing to miss," Harry told Linnet. "Which is all I want to say about it." 

That left it up to Cornelia to try for something harmless. "I've never followed the advice in _Patrick's Pitch Pointers_ column," she declared, instantly taking a bead. 

"Is that Quidditch?"

"Oh, Merlin, not that!"

"Does it count if I did it wrong?"

 

They played another round, during which Harry acquired another six beads, but Draco only got four. At the end of the game, Linnet and Sophia made the squealing discovery that their strings were identical. Most of the girls turned their strings into bracelets, but Draco looped his around his tie so that it overhung the neck of his robes, and Blaise conjured a pin and hung his under the Slytherin crest on his robes, like a ribbon for a club or cause. Harry looped his around a strap of his school bag. The others agreed that was acceptable as long as he wore it on his person when he didn't have the bag with him. He was already thinking that it would look good dangling from a belt loop when he didn't have robes on. 

 


	23. Appearances

 

On Saturday, Harry realized the school bag solution would be awkward for meals. Skipping breakfast in favor of more sleep was appealing, but that would only delay the problem, and was likely to cause trouble with Hermione. He sat in a window seat of the dormitory, where there was sunlight, and tried to figure out how to make a bracelet from the length of beads. He could cast a merging spell on the cord ends, but he needed to hold them together while he did it, and he couldn't do that while the cord was around his wrist. Eventually, he gave up trying and took the bag down to breakfast with him. 

Hermione glanced over as he sat down next to her. She had a book with her, but to Harry's surprise, she stuck a piece of parchment in it and closed it. 

"Harry," she said. "I didn't think you'd show." 

"Why not?" he asked. 

She looked down. "You were out, last night."

"Not late," he scoffed. The group had decided to be careful about that. 

"Still," she shrugged. "It's the third time this week."

"And I came to breakfast the other times too!" Harry retorted. He nudged her. "You worry too much, you know?"

Bristling, she put down her fork. "Too much?" she retorted. "About a friend with no sense, who can get into a place where no one can follow him?"

"That's not true!" Harry snapped. "I mean, yes, no one can follow me, but I _do_ have sense."

"You weren't acting like it last spring!"

"Last spring, I was expecting to die!"

They sat in silence for a moment, not quite looking at each other. Across the table, Neville was pointedly focused on spreading marmalade on toast, and Ginny was making little soothing motions at one or both of them. 

"You're not now?" Hermione asked awkwardly. 

Harry turned his head away. "Not really." He wasn't sure when that had changed. He didn't have a real plan yet. 

"That's good." 

Surprised, he looked back, and when their eyes met, she giggled. Despite himself, he smiled. It was ridiculous, really.

"I'm okay," he said. "Really." 

With an uncertain nod, she glanced rapidly around, as if looking for something that might help. "Are you studying this morning?" she said, gesturing at his bag. 

"Thought I might," he answered casually, although he had really been hoping to go over the match roster for Quidditch with some people from the team. Two years ago, Hooch had decided the house games should go on a rotation. In theory, Harry agreed, but it changed strategy. 

"You should come to the library with me, then," she said eagerly. 

"Okay. I have that Charms essay to do still." 

She sighed. "I know. At this rate, it will be Sunday afternoon before I can get to my N.E.W.T. revision." 

 

As he picked up his bag to leave breakfast, she caught sight of the beads. He saw her eyes narrow, but she didn't say anything. Perversely, he wished she would, but instead of encouraging her, he asked her what topic she had chosen for her Charms research project. 

"Identifying plants from fragments," she answered, as they started up the stairs. "What did you choose?" 

"Glamours." He had started to research them further even before this assignment, to assist with teaching Millicent, and had decided that combining the projects was the only way to preserve enough time for his other activities.

"Really? I wouldn't expect that to interest you."

Harry looked at her incredulously, his brow tightening. "What? Hermione, disguises could be critical to my survival. I can't always use Polyjuice, you know." 

"Oh!" She giggled. "Sorry. After too many years with Lavender and Parvati, I just think of them as a way to hide spots or darken your eyelashes." 

He snorted. "That hadn't crossed my mind. Here --" No one else was near. He pulled her into a window embrasure at the landing. "Let me show you." 

With a tap of his wand, he made the center panel of glass reflective, and using it, duplicated some of the changes that he had used to go to Knockturn Alley, making his hair red and his jaw a bit jowly. To his satisfaction, she gasped when he looked at her.

"This hair color makes it hard to see my scar, see? A glamour can't hide that, but it can camouflage it." 

She nodded, mesmerized, as her hand rose to touch his face. After stroking down his jaw, she shivered and twitched away. 

"Change back," she pleaded.

"Okay." There were people coming up the stairs anyway. "Better?"

She shuddered. "Yes. It was so strange, touching you and having your face be in the wrong place. My fingertips looked like they were _inside_ you." 

In the library, Harry pulled out two sources that he'd used already, and then, checking the cosmetics section -- which he never would have thought of without Hermione's comment about spots and eyelashes -- found another. It took only a glance through the last book to see that the concepts were presented quite differently, and he decided that he would include something on that, once he had tested both methods for a similar change, and he started laying out the structure of his essay. Hermione worked beside him, but he looked over more than once to find her eyeing his beads. When they left for lunch, she pretended to notice them for the first time, reaching out a hand to touch them. 

"Beads?"

"Yeah." Harry shouldered his bag. He had wondered how he would feel when someone commented on his new decoration. Smug, apparently. 

"They look like Parvati's." 

He tried not to smirk. "Nah. I'm sure she has different ones."

 

On Sunday, Harry tucked the shipment of fluxweed in his bag, threw a couple of school texts on top of it, and headed out to the secret passage from Greenhouse Four to meet Millicent for brewing. She grinned when he dropped the bag next to her cauldron. "You're really resisting wearing those beads, aren't you?" she teased. 

"I wore them to dinner last night, and breakfast this morning!" he protested. He had ended up draping them over his tie, like Draco was doing. 

"And now?"

"Now I needed something to carry the Murtlap essence in."

"Oh, okay." She smirked. "I still think you're afraid to." 

"I am not. It just feels weird." 

"Gryffindor machismo." 

"Seamus _plays_ with his." It was true. Seamus had made a bracelet out of his beads, but it was loose, so it not only showed, but he constantly had to be shaking it back. Nonetheless, Millicent laughed. 

"What?"

"You defend your house above yourself." She flapped one large hand at Harry. "No, don't scowl. It's cute, sort of."

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned away, shed his robes, and started unpacking his bag. Deliberately, he took the string of beads off the strap and hung it from a belt loop of his jeans. 

"That's how I'd like to wear it." 

"Huhn. Nice, but we're not often without robes." 

"Yeah. I can't find anything I like as much that will work that way."

Millicent reached a hand out, and then stopped, her fingers inches from the beads. "Well, it will certainly keep anyone from touching them -- anyone but Draco, that is." 

Harry looked at how the strand was hanging down to the top of his thigh, and decided she was right. It was a bit suggestive. He rocked his hips, making the string sway, and grinned. "I suppose. I could move it back one."

Millicent got out the fluxweed jar, emptied it into the cup of the scale, cleared the jar with a wind charm, and began to pour the new batch in. "I admit, I'm still wondering about the Muggle girl."

"Muggle girl?" Harry asked, confused. 

"The one you stole something from on a dare."

"Oh, that!" Harry glanced down at the beads, looking for the lurid green one. It matched the color of the inflatable plastic chair, now that he thought about it. "It was only sort of stealing. I gave it back. Well, except for the mirror." 

Millicent looked up from topping off the fluxweed in the scale and raised her eyebrows, creasing her wide forehead. "Now, I'm really curious." 

"Draco just wanted to see something Muggles use for ID, that's all." 

If anything, her frown deepened. "Why?"

"To make it easier to buy alcohol, last year. We're not old enough even now, by Muggle laws, and he thought a fake ID would be safer than Confundus or aging potion." _Or stealing it, but I'm not going to mention that._ Harry felt his face heating. 

"So this wasn't really a girl, then," Millicent stated. "I mean, it was a _woman_ , not a child."

"What? Oh, yeah!" Harry hadn't thought of it that way. "Yeah, she was a University student, if you believe her ID." Harry decided he might as well tell the bones of the story; at this rate, it would be better than letting Millicent make one up to match the few facts she knew. "I flew down in my invisibility cloak and took her rucksack up to where we were picnicking. After that, it turned into sort of Muggle show-and-tell. She had textbooks and a calculator and an electric torch and make-up and a lighter and cigarettes, and then all the things in her wallet." 

"And you kept a _mirror_?"

"Because Draco had caught the image of her ID card in it." 

"Oh. That makes more sense." Millicent began to grind Mountain Crab shell in the large mortar, so Harry filled the cauldron with water and set it to heat. It wasn't until the fluxweed had been added to the brew that she spoke again. 

"Did you ever make an ID, then?"

"No." Harry let out a harsh huff of a laugh. "No, that was all the day I got caught. I didn't go back there until the row about the House Cup, and that was alone." 

She stared at him, her small eyes narrowed still further. "You went _alone_? After you and Draco killed Lestrange?"

"Don't, all right?" he pleaded. "Draco's already been after me about it." 

With a rattling sigh, she shook her head. "Mad," she commented. "I can see it will do no good." 

 

While they were waiting for the potion to cool, Harry gave Millicent another lesson in casting glamours. He hadn't tried anything from the cosmetics book, yet, so he stuck to what they had been doing. Millicent was at least making progress with that, although she hadn't yet changed the appearance of her body. She also still couldn't move naturally with a glamour on her robes, but she had managed to change them to a dashing pinstriped cobalt blue. 

"That reminds me," Millicent said afterwards, as she let her robes return to their usual black, "I have pictures." 

"Pictures?"

"I thought to write home and ask Mum. She's delighted, poor woman. Thinks I'm developing an interest in my appearance." Millicent, her face red, scrambled in her bag and drew out a textbook, and, from inside the front cover, two photographs. One was from about a year ago, and Harry didn't think it would be of much use. It showed a clearly posed Millicent dolled up with lipstick and blush and wearing lacy robes that she tugged at between moments of forcing out a flat smile. In the other, though, she was working in the garden in comfortable-looking wide trousers and a slightly tight short-sleeved blouse that flattened her breasts and showed muscular forearms. There was dirt on her nose and she grinned as she shook a wilted rose at the camera, sending out a flutter of petals. 

"Very good," Harry said, taking it. "So you gardened at home too, I see."

Millicent snorted. "It's about the only hard labor acceptable for a young lady. Well, if you don't have the flying space for horses."

 

Harry made it back to Gryffindor an hour before it was time for dinner. Carrying the bag everywhere did feel ridiculous. When he spotted Ginny over by the window, talking to Cornelia, he went over to join them. 

"Hi," he said. 

"Hi, Harry." Cornelia looked at his bag and smirked. Harry rolled his eyes. 

"Maybe you two can help me," he said.

"Hm?" Ginny raised her eyebrows. Harry took the string of beads off the bag strap and held it out. 

"I can't figure out how to make a bracelet without it being too long. I mean, I can't do it on my wrist, and if I make it long enough to get on once it's a loop, it gets in my way." 

Ginny snorted. "And here I thought you were evading it." 

"I wonder if the boys are all having problems," Cornelia mused. 

"Quite possibly!" Ginny laid the string out in a circle and touched the tip of her wand to where she had overlaid the ends. " _Necto_ _!_ " she whispered, and they fused. She handed the loop to Harry. "Put that on." 

Wondering if she had misunderstood, Harry slid his hand through the loop. It went through easily, but once the strand was on, it became smaller -- not tight enough to constrict, but small enough not to fall off. 

"Great!" he said. "How do I take it off?"

"Take it off?" Cornelia asked, as if the concept was absurd. "Oh, you can't do that! It's permanent." 

Ginny grinned, but didn't play along. "You just find the seam and pinch it between your thumb and forefinger. Then you can pull it right off. You can also make it just a little larger that way."

"Why would I do that?"

She shrugged. "If you want it to jangle." 

 

They ended up going to dinner together, with Ron and Hermione joining them. It had felt odd, having something hanging around his wrist, but Harry wasn't sure that anyone else noticed the beads under his cuffs. It wasn't until dessert, when he reached for a tart, that Hermione commented. 

"What an odd bracelet, Harry," she said. 

It really _was_ odd, he realized, and not just because he'd never worn one before. The beads covered less than half the cord. Still, he shrugged. "I like it," he said, and Seamus leaned his chin on his hand, incidentally showing off his own beads. 

"Don't listen to her, Harry," he said. "You have _excellent_ taste." 

 

The school week passed without incident. A few times more, Hermione remarked on Harry's beads, but she never asked an actual _question_ , so Harry just nodded and changed the subject. He found the beads got in the way of writing when he wore them on his right wrist, but were fine on the left. He ended up leaving them there most of the time. On Friday, at dinner, he stretched the strand out to show a little more before he went up to the Uncommon Room with Seamus, Parvati, Cornelia, and Ginny. 

"Oh, there you are!" Draco said cheerily when they entered, and he gestured dismissal to Millicent. "Meeting adjourned! Enemy agents in the chamber!" 

Harry laughed. He hadn't expected to see Draco so merry the night before a match. 

"Oh, we don't care if you beat Hufflepuff," he responded. "They have an excellent team, this year. Please, keep their score low for us." 

"I assure you, Slytherin will have the cup again." Draco's eyes sparkled, and Harry bumped against him. 

"I don't think so." 

"Mm. We should have a wager." 

"Terms to be settled in private." 

"Of course." 

"Thank you!" said Padma, from the door. "You're public with enough!"

"Oh, I don't know," Parvati countered with a giggle. "I wouldn't mind more."

"Of course you wouldn't."

"Well, why should I? They're both cute." 

Seamus grinned. "Ah! And so I'll not object to them showing that they're taken." 

Other people began to trickle in. Draco poured wine, pointed out which cheese was which, and was generally pleasant. Harry didn't think he had the knack of that, but he made sure to talk for a bit with Blaise and Gilbert before taking what seemed to have become 'his' seat on the comfortable sofa. 

"If I might have everyone's attention?" Draco called out clearly. Conversations settled. People who were standing turned or twisted to see him. 

"First," he said, lifting his glass, "A toast. To cooperation -- except on the pitch!" 

People laughed amiably, and Harry clinked his glass of wine against Ginny's glass of pumpkin juice and Millicent's glass of beer, and then stretched to touch glasses with Seamus and Parvati and Blaise and Gilbert. When the clinks and teasing variations of the toast died out, Draco put his glass on the shelf, his demeanor becoming more solemn. "In the interest of keeping serious matters first, I would like to propose a short discussion about membership in the Uncommon Room." 

The silence grew tenser. Before, Harry realized, no one had been talking. Now they also stopped munching crackers and shifting in their chairs. Draco waved dismissively, as if shooing the mood away. "So far," he said, "this group has shown an admirable camaraderie. Harry and I started with people we were certain were charitable, social, and dependable." His listeners were starting to relax. Blaise rolled his eyes. Millicent tapped his arm with the back of her hand in a mock slap. "And who had a few interests in common," Draco added, smiling. 

"However, if we want to genuinely expand inter-house cooperation, we need more people, and I think that now that we have a core group, we should be able to extend invitations to prospects who might not have been entirely suitable for the first round." He surveyed them for a moment. "However, I don't mind having delayed on Hufflepuffs until after tomorrow's match." As people chuckled, he picked up his glass. "Who has a nomination for the group to debate?" 

People began to look at each other and whisper, and Draco crossed the room to settle between Harry and Ginny. "Budge over, love," he whispered. 

Ginny cleared her throat. "Luna Lovegood," she said. 

"Loony?" Gilbert exclaimed derisively. "Why?"

Ginny glared. "Because," she said pointedly, "she is always _nice_. And she can keep a secret." 

Linnet patted Gilbert on the arm. "She's got you there," she said. "And I agree. I've never heard her put down anyone, even people she had every right to." 

"I'm not so sure that's kindness as much mental deficiency."

Padma glared. "Might I remind you," she said coldly, "that you are speaking of a _Ravenclaw_?"

"Oh, calm down," Sophia said. "Lovegood does take some getting used to." She fingered her beads. "Though, honestly," she added, "she's bright enough. And if she were here, _one_ of us wouldn't have a bead in another house's colors." 

Everyone considered that. For the first time, it occurred to Harry that Ginny and Cornelia probably knew Linnet and Gilbert better than he did. They had no doubt been in lessons together, along with the Ravenclaw they were talking about. He wondered if that made it worth adding a fifth-year or two.

"All right," Draco said. "Let's put her on the list for consideration. Who else?"

"If we're going for cooperation," Blaise said, "we really _do_ need a Hufflepuff." 

"Two, at least," Parvati amended. 

"Right." Seamus grinned. "Wouldn't want to throw a lone Puff in with the lot of us." 

"What about Susan Bones?" Padma suggested. "She's absolutely steady. My favorite partner for Care of Magical Creatures." 

"Any relation to Madam Amelia Bones?" Gilbert asked.

"Niece."

"Ah. Yes, well if she's familiar with her aunt's prize wyverns, I expect she has nerves of steel. We should pose no problem for her." 

The Gryffindors didn't have as many classes with Hufflepuffs as with Slytherins, but Harry knew who Susan Bones was. She had never struck him as particularly upper-class, but considering her aunt -- whose language and manner screamed "earthy country aristocracy" -- he supposed she probably was. 

"How about Justin?" Parvati mused. 

"Finch-Fletchley?" Padma exclaimed. "All right. Now _I'll_ ask why."

"Well, he seems amiable. I mean, except for when he thought Harry had set that snake on him, and Ernie had all the Hufflepuffs convinced Harry was the Heir of Slytherin." There were laughs at that, loudest from the Slytherins. 

"Nix on that," Harry said. "We _were_ on decent terms. He seems to hate me now -- over Draco, I think. And Macmillan is a stuffed shirt." Harry caught Gilbert's eye and winked. "A pity, though, because I think knowing some Slytherins would do Justin good, and it would be entertaining to watch Gilbert meet his Muggleborn equivalent."

After a moment of shocked silence, Millicent burst out laughing, closely followed by Ginny and -- to Harry's surprise -- Linnet. 

"Should I be offended?" Gilbert asked her. 

"Of course not!" Linnet said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "You're just _you_." 

"Now," Seamus said, "not to put my roommate on the spot, but from the start, I've been wondering about an omission. Why didn't you invite Ron, Harry?"

"And Hermione," Parvati put in. 

Harry sighed. "Hermione and I are ... not comfortable right now, let's say. As for Ron...." He shrugged. "I _did_ invite him. He refused." 

"Honestly!" Ginny huffed. 

"Still, he is tolerating me," Draco said. "Mostly." He hesitated. "For my part, I would _like_ to invite Pansy--"

"No," Millicent and Linnet said in chorus.

"It does seem inadvisable," Gilbert agreed. 

Ruefully, Draco nodded. "For now, yes." His face twisted as if he had bitten into a lime. "But as Hermione for Harry, she holds a long-standing place in my affections."

Ginny shrugged. "I'm sure we all have people we _want_ to invite, but know wouldn't work. Dean isn't here, I see, and I have no doubt that Harry didn't even consider him, and Seamus didn't suggest it, and I'm not suggesting him either."

"On the other side of that," Harry said slowly. "I expect Neville would be fine." 

"I would be comfortable with Longbottom," Draco agreed.

 

The group tentatively settled on Susan, Luna, and Neville, with the idea that they could all use the next week to observe the three candidates and make a final decision the next week. If Susan accepted, they could ask her who else from her house might fit. They also generally agreed to keep the group at sixth and seventh year students for the rest of the term, and revisit inviting younger students in January. Draco and Millicent left early to rest up for the match, and shortly thereafter, Harry decided to head back to Gryffindor. 

"Good night, everyone," he said as he got to his feet. To his surprise, most people stopped talking. Seamus looked over, his forehead creasing in a frown. 

"Do you mind if we stay, Harry?"

"Of course not!" Harry shrugged. "Oh, Draco and I set a password to get past the mirror. It's 'reflective'. If that doesn't work, someone's reset it for privacy." 

It was unnerving that no one replied with a smart comment. Harry turned away. Before he had left the open area, Ginny was beside him, with Cornelia a step behind. "Want company?" Ginny asked. "We were planning on turning in early too." 

"It might not be our match," Cornelia added, "but it takes a huge bite out of study time, just the same." 

Harry grinned. "More or less what I was thinking," he admitted as he opened the door to the mirror. The low murmur of voices behind them vanished as Cornelia, the last through, shut it again. 

"The Slytherins were keen, weren't they?" Ginny volunteered. "Malfoy didn't even finish the one glass of wine." 

"Don't think I would either," Harry admitted, and Cornelia slapped him on the back. 

"Good man, captain."

It was still early, relatively speaking, when they entered the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry was pleased to see Hermione sitting by the fire with Ron. He went over to join them. Hermione didn't look up from the notes she was frantically scribbling, but Ron frowned as he approached. 

"Team business?" he asked. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Obviously not, or you would have been with us." 

Ron glanced at Hermione and didn't ask again. Harry decided they could talk on Sunday, when they had another divination attempt scheduled. 

Ron nudged her. "Hey," he sat. "Let up on that, will you? Harry's back." 

"I've finally got it," she muttered, not lifting face or quill. "How it all fits together. I need to get this down before I forget." 

"Hermione...."

"Go and play gobstones or something, Ron! This isn't the time!"

"When is it?" he muttered sourly. 

 

Harry trailed fingers along the strip of light as he walked down the short curve of corridor to the Uncommon Room. Susara, as often when they were here, spiraled down his arm and out of her pose. A little gold head emerged from Harry's sleeve as he sat on the comfy sofa. 

_"Hello, beautiful."_

_"Master,"_ she hissed happily. _"We are alone?"_

_"Two friends will be here later. Would you like to hunt?"_

Her tongue flickered in anticipation. _"It is a good place for that."_

Smiling, Harry bent down and set her on the stone floor. _"Return before you become too cold,"_ he warned her, and with a cheeky flick of her tail, she raced off in a narrowing wave of gold that rapidly vanished into a crack. Harry shook his head. He supposed he would be just as mad for speed if he had stayed immobile for three hours. McGonagall still didn't like him having a snake, but Harry didn't like to leave Susara alone, so she generally stayed in a spiral around his upper arm during Sunday's Transfiguration tutorial. Once she was in one of the standard poses, however, she sometimes forgot to come out of it. From her description, it sounded as if they were almost trancelike for her. And, of course, once she hadn't moved in a long time, Harry often forgot she was there. 

As he leaned back, he heard the door open, and then close. He settled himself more casually against the arm of the sofa. "Recovered from the match?" he called, as Draco came into sight. 

Draco shivered dramatically. "I thought I'd never get dry," he confessed. "I had to cast the charm five times to get down to my skin, and I gave up on my boots altogether, and just spent the party barefoot."

Harry thought he would have liked to have seen that -- Draco in bare feet and robes. He had the urge to demand that Draco remove his boots immediately, but decided it would be too distracting. 

"Sorry that you were uncomfortable," he said, "but I can't claim I'm not pleased with the result. The scores stayed low."

"Quite." Draco threw himself down on the sofa with a huff. "I would have passed on the snitch if the Hufflepuff Seeker hadn't been already diving for it."

"Good catch, though," Harry said, sitting in the narrow space left.

"Thank you." 

Draco had just settled his head in Harry's lap, and Harry was contently stroking his bright hair, when they heard the door open. A few seconds later, Ron appeared in the passage.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked pointedly.

Harry snorted. Draco rolled his head in an interesting manner to look up. "Considering that you're late..."

"Sorry about that," Ron said quickly. "Hermione wouldn't let me leave until I got all the gemstone reactants."

"What are you, Weasley, ten?" Draco scoffed.

"Hey!" Harry objected. "I don't think I could recite all the gemstone reactants."

"No, but you could walk away when someone with no authority over you insisted on it." 

Harry brushed Draco's hair back from his face. "But maybe not if you did," he said fondly.

Ron slapped his hand over his eyes, and Draco lifted up for a kiss. Ignoring his friend's discomfort, Harry took the time to enjoy it. After Draco finally eased away, they gazed at each other for a moment, and then Draco jumped up off the sofa. 

"Well, then," he said cheerily. "Just let me reset the password on the door, and we can get started."

Ron stared after him. "Password? There wasn't a password."

Harry shrugged. "There is most of the time. A lot of people know it, though, so he'll set it to something else while we're here."

"Ah." Wide-eyed, Ron looked at the passage. "Um, will anyone mind?"

"Nah. They'll probably just think Draco and I are going at it." 

Ron shuddered dramatically. "Loan me your invisibility cloak when I leave, mate?" 

Harry laughed. "I would if I had it! We'll duck out first and make sure the coast is clear, all right?" 

"Thanks." Ron flopped into a chair. "Not that I don't like you, but there are limits." 

"There better be!" Draco sang out, coming back in. 

Ron rolled his eyes. "So, what are we doing, this time?" he asked pointedly. "You said something about a focus-enhancing potion?"

Draco hesitated. "That is an option," he said. "Coltsfoot is easy enough to get, and might--"

"Coltsfoot?" Ron repeated derisively. "Not something I've heard of as focus- _enhancing_."

Draco smirked. "Not for the physical world," he said. "But it can help with otherworldly focus, especially in the proper preparations. By itself, it isn't good for much, and it can be dangerous."

"So what other components do you need?" Harry asked.

"I've gathered from sources available here that the compound will be more stable -- and more useful -- if I incorporate elements from the Dreamer head of a Runespoor. Unfortunately, it's difficult to research further at school. My spellfather has an extensive potions library, but not much on divination, and works on restricted components are not something he keeps many of in his school library." Draco hesitated. "It's also not an easy thing to procure."

Harry nodded. "Should I ask?"

"Ask--? Ah. Yes, please do. I forget you have sources." 

"So, for now?" Ron pressed. 

"For now, I would like you to repeat the divination you performed last time."

Ron frowned. "You think I might get something out of it on a second try?"

Draco's eyebrows rose. "It was not without fruit last time. However, yes -- I believe it is possible that your divination might improve with practice. And also, I would like to make a subtle change in Harry's participation."

Harry eyed him uneasily. "Yes?"

"I think he should take the blood from the scar."

Harry jerked back. It wasn't so much the idea of a knife at his head -- well, some fear of that was unavoidable, but he trusted Ron. It was--

"No," Ron said flatly. 

"You should be able to--"

"No. It's not that, it's--" Ron blew out a harsh breath. "I already saw more of Voldemort than Harry, didn't I? Besides, scars are the past."

Harry nodded, finally understanding the rest of his revulsion. "He'd probably just see my mum dying." 

"Still," Ron said, "if we could have something that means each of them separately, that might be worthwhile." 

"I'll consider how that might be done," Draco agreed. "For now, though...." Trailing off, he studied Ron as if he had never seen him before. "Is there any minor adjustment that you believe might help?" At Ron's confusion, Draco reached for his bag. "Let me set up," he suggested. 

When basin, flask, and dagger were set out the table, Ron finally answered. 

"Do you have a shallower bowl?" he asked. 

"It could be done," Draco said. "And the color?"

"Grey would be best." 

"I see." 

Draco pulled the bowl closer. He stroked it almost lovingly, and Harry saw Ron roll his eyes. Ron's derision changed to amazement as Draco drew his wand and repeated the strokes, coaxing the base to spread out toward his touch. As he started to turn it, Ron reached a hand. 

"Wait! Don't, um-- not completely round. Make the other side...." Ron motioned, curving the fingers of each hand in and bringing them together.

"Articulate, as always," Draco said, but he wasn't quite sneering. "So -- a figure eight shape?"

"But mildly. Not getting really narrow in the middle."

Draco nodded, and turned the bowl halfway around. "Are you going to help?" he asked Harry before starting his strokes again, and Harry, belatedly, began to darken the stone. As practice, he let the color flow into Draco's manipulation of the marble, so that it spread out in smooth curves like ripples. 

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. 

"Should I even it out?"

"No, let it stay." 

Draco and Harry having finished, Ron reached out and took the bowl. He turned it over in his hands. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Our independent study," Harry answered. He glanced over at Draco. "Well, Draco did some shaping before that." 

"Formal study has definitely improved both my technique and the result, however," Draco said, as Ron set the bowl down on the table. "Shall we begin?" 

Ron nodded and moved to the floor in front of the table. Harry sat across from him. Ron was a little less mesmerized by the scrying potion, this time. He still stared at it from the time it left the flask, but he put the flask down on his own, and when Harry offered a dagger and his hand, he knew what to do without prompting. Harry didn't find waiting for the knife any easier, but it also wasn't worse. He stayed still, and Ron milked out drops of blood -- five, this time -- before releasing him. 

Again, as if the hex shouldn't split the bowl, he separated the swirls of blood into two regions with _Diffindo_. Harry looked at Draco, who shrugged. Harry recalled his early non-explanation: that the interplay of incantation and intent could be especially fluid in areas of a wizard's or witch's aptitude. Ron laid his wand down by the bowl. 

"Ron?" Harry asked tentatively.

"See, _doom_ is a hard thing to find," Ron remarked, as naturally as if he were chatting with Harry by the pitch, rather than staring down into a strangely shaped bowl full of shimmering potion and blood. 

"Weakness, then," Harry suggested. 

"Plenty of those," Ron said. "Pride is wrapped around and around him. He can't enjoy anything without someone to see. And his hatred falls over his eyes like a hat."

Harry snorted. "I knew that."

"Your love can do the same," Ron said conversationally. "But it's also a strength. It's a tree, here. It grows out from you, and people gather around it. You're going to have a rough winter, though -- harsh and mild by turns. Mum always said that brought on colds."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. Harry suspected he was trying not to laugh. Ron seemed to have forgotten about Voldemort. 

Ron's brow furrowed as if something in the swirls didn't make sense. "You're confused about boys and girls?"

"I am _not_ confused."

Ron frowned more. "Maybe not, but there _is_ a confusion. Your best girl's a boy."

Harry kept his face blank, even as Draco scowled. Draco might think Ron was calling him a girl, but Harry was sure he meant Millicent. Really, though, shouldn't Hermione be his best girl? Afraid of what else might come out, he leaned forward. 

" _Voldemort_ , Ron." 

"Oh, him!" Ron said carelessly. "No girls _or_ boys. He just likes...." 

His voice trailed off, dismay spreading across his face. His shoulders hunched. From what Harry had seen of Voldemort's means of amusement, he expected that Ron was unprepared for whatever he was seeing. 

"Ron!" he said urgently, his voice low. "Let it go. That's enough. Come here." 

"I--" Ron gasped, as if an Acromantula was approaching. 

"Ron. You're with me." Harry reached across the table. He was vaguely aware of Susara racing back from somewhere and then pausing just out of reach, her fore-body raised.

"Don't touch him!"

Nodding, Harry spread his hand between Ron's face and the bowl. "With me," he repeated, and Ron seized his hand. 

"Harry!"

"All right there, Ron?" Harry asked carefully. He set his free hand on the floor and let Susara glide back into his robes. She went all the way up to his neck, which was one of her favorite spots when she was cold -- or anxious. 

Closing his eyes, Ron let out a shaky breath and nodded. "What a sick fuck."

"Well, we knew that." 

"Anything entertainingly perverted, Weasley?" Draco asked. 

"Nah. Torture and crap. Not even any sex."

Ron sounded casual, but not entirely coherent. Harry went around the table to sit by him, his hand on Ron's shoulder. 

"Don't think about it," he advised, and Ron, to his surprise, leaned his head against him, as a young child might. 

"Did I say anything useful?" he asked plaintively. 

"Hm. Well, the things you said about Voldemort, we knew--"

"But they bear reflection," Draco interjected. "You said that he is constrained by pride and blinded by hate."

"Both of which have helped me in the past," Harry pointed out, "if only by accident. And you seemed convinced that I'd have a rough winter." 

"Oh, right," said Ron. "Cracked boughs, maybe." He scrubbed at his face. "My head hurts."

Draco vanished the potion. "Would you like a beer?" he asked. "Or would that just make it worse?"

"Butterbeer?"

"If you like. We also have ale." 

Ron watched, incredulous, as Draco crossed the room, opened a crate under the shelf, and came back with a beer. 

"You have a bar in here?" 

"Just wine and beer," Draco answered, passing him the bottle, "and only for Fridays, usually."

"But since you never show up, and since Dobby got this one because you like it, I think...."

Ron looked about him at the comfortable furniture and small tables. "Right. Seamus said something about this."

"You're still welcome to come," Harry said. 

Ron took a quick swallow of the beer. "He's been encouraging me to," he confessed. 

"And?"

"I'm thinking about it." Ron scowled. "I'm still not sure it's a good idea. All this unity crap. I mean, we're in houses for a reason, right?" 

"Because the founders couldn't stop arguing," Harry pointed out.

"It's been going well so far," Draco commented mildly. "Harry is correct, I think. The houses preserve a dysfunction." He sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. "Come up here, Harry. I took your advice on the furniture; you might do me the courtesy of using it."

With a laugh, Harry got to his feet. His shins were sore from the cold stone. "Happily. Pick a chair, Ron. No need for sitting on the floor now." 

"Right." Ron settled himself in the chair he had been using earlier, and after a moment's effort, managed to look almost comfortable. "So. Do you think this method is worth trying again? Without the 'enhancement,' I mean?"

"Do you?" Draco asked. 

"Nah. It all seems fairly random. If we get anything useful, it will just be luck." 

"Very well. Then there's little point in repeating it unchanged."

"So, do we wait until you have the focus enhancing potion ready?"

Draco frowned. His hand drifted over to touch Harry's. "I don't think so. I think that I'll find the best resources for that at home, so perhaps it should wait until after Christmas break." 

"You have Runespoor heads at home?"

"No. However, we do have an extensive library, which includes significant coverage of the less precise arts." Harry wasn't sure Draco realized that he was stroking his thumb over the back of Harry's hand. The sensation was both warming and irritating. Harry turned his hand over to catch Draco's fingers in his own. 

"Should we wait that long?" he advanced. "It's not even November." 

"We could advance to the seer's ritual," Draco suggested. 

"The Dark one?" Ron countered.

"Yes." 

"I'll think about it." 

To Harry's surprise, Draco did not retort that Ron had already agreed to it. "There is one other option," he said instead. Harry found his tone overly light.

"Oh?"

"Considering your sister's connection to Tom Riddle, it is possible that if we reverted her to her possession with a Memory charm, and then--"

"I'd sooner see you dead."

At Ron's flat declaration, Draco's nails dug into Harry's hand, but his voice stayed light. "I was _joking_ , Weasley."

"Of course you were." 

"Sincerely. It might be unpleasant for her, but it would be downright dangerous for us. The Dark Lord's shade caused enough trouble with the body and magic of a first year student; I don't want even the _memory_ of it guiding a sixth-year -- certainly not one as quick and competent as Ginny."

"Oh, it's 'Ginny', now, is it?" 

Harry grinned. "Two days ago, she was sitting right where you are now."

"And she's made it clear that 'Weasley' is too ambiguous, and 'Miss Weasley' too formal for constant use." 

"Hold it!" Ron said, flabbergasted. "My _sister_ is in this group?" 

"I thought she was a logical invitee." 

"Ask her about it," Harry urged. 

 

In the end, they decided to try the Seer's divination in two weeks, at the beginning of November. Draco noted that he might need Harry to brew, leaving the reason unstated -- that making the potion himself would leave him unable to approach the Quiris. When Harry and Ron got back to Gryffindor -- long past curfew -- Hermione left for her room without a word.

"I worry about her, mate," Ron confided. "She's doing nothing but revise."

"Doesn't she always?" 

"Not like this. She found a quirk in how beryl interacts with animal and mineral potions components, and rather than being excited, she was in tears about everything she might not know yet. There's no way she can keep this up until N.E.W.T.s."

"Have you tried taking her off for a snog?" 

Ron huffed. "Don't I wish!" 

 


	24. The Limits of Friendship

 

On Wednesday after lessons, Harry was up in the dormitory fetching a Transfiguration text when he suddenly realized that he was alone in the room. Quickly, he dug Snape's book out of his trunk and tucked it in his bag, under other books. At the top, he put the Transfiguration text, which was narrow enough to lay across the others, and then jammed his scarf in at one side to keep everything in place. When it all looked safely innocuous, he started downstairs. 

A flight of stairs down into the dungeons, he encountered a complication. Draco was coming up, and they spotted each other simultaneously. Harry slowed, but so did Draco. They met on a landing.

"Coming to see me?" Draco said, in a mocking tone that told Harry he wouldn't believe agreement. 

"No," Harry retorted boldly. "I was planning to pay a visit to your spellfather, actually." 

"A social call?"

Harry snorted. "I want to know what's up with Nott, of course." Determined to be reassuring, he nudged Draco. "Join me? He'd like that, I bet." 

Draco regarded him haughtily for a moment, but in the end, inclined his head. "Very well. Come along, Harry." 

Harry rolled his eyes and followed. 

 

Snape was not in his office, so they continued on to his personal rooms. He opened the door with a scowl and a question on his lips but it smoothed out to a neutral greeting.

"Draco. And Mr. Potter. How unexpected." He stepped back, ushering them in with a mockery of graciousness. "Is the emergency of a critical nature, or shall I call for tea?"

"Tea, thanks," Harry said brightly. Draco tsked. 

"Honestly, Severus," he said, tilting his nose in the air. "Some visits are purely social occasions." 

Snape sent a questioning look at Harry, who shrugged. "We didn't have anything better to do."

"Oh? Has someone hexed your bits?"

"Severus!" Draco yelped. Harry ducked his head to hide a grin. He liked it when Snape talked this way -- like they were all adults -- but he suspected it was more embarrassing for Draco. Still, he was determined to come up with a smart rejoinder. 

"I'm assured the thorns will fall off soon," he answered blandly. 

To his delight, Snape snorted with amusement, although Harry wasn't sure if that was at his comment, or Draco's wince.

"Not one I had heard of," Snape said, with an academic air of curiosity. "If you find the perpetrator, _do_ try to extract the means from him, whether curse or potion."

With a huff, Draco strode over to the grate and threw in some floo powder. "Kitchens!" 

 

Harry would have expected tea in Snape's rooms to mean _tea_ , possibly with rather solid, plain biscuits, but when Draco imperiously demanded that the house elves send up tea, it arrived with not only crumpets dripping with salted butter, but with meltingly delicate madelines and tiny, sweet strawberries dusted with sugar. Snape confirmed Harry's opinion by glaring at the doily-festooned silver tray with a huff. Ignoring the china teacups, he summoned a mug from the kitchen and poured a little milk in it. Draco rolled his eyes before adding tea for him. Harry wondered if they were always this amusing together. 

"Professor McGonagall tells me that you are making good progress in combined Transfiguration," Snape offered stiffly, sitting back in his chair. 

"I think so," Harry agreed. "Draco was good at shaping to begin with, but he's far more precise, now. And if I work in minor transfiguration during the shaping, it usually sets it, so the change is stable."

"Stable for how long?" 

"Stone to wood has lasted three weeks now." 

"Hmph." Snape didn't look impressed, but he wasn't sneering, which came to almost the same thing. "Wood is a much looser material."

"Well, of course!" Harry replied indignantly. "I didn't claim I was overcoming basic principals of transfiguration." 

Snape's mouth almost quirked up at that. "And yet, as little as a year ago, that is exactly what I would have heard."

"Yeah, probably." 

"Some of the lower years might still think you were," Draco pointed out. "A distressing number of first-year students think all transfigured objects revert within minutes."

Harry shrugged. "It makes sense, if you're Muggle-raised. After all, if transfiguration was permanent, wizards and witches would have everything they wanted, right?"

"The Principal of Conservation of Quality--"

"Isn't introduced until fifth year." 

"But surely--" Draco realized his error and stopped. "Ah. Yes, I see what you mean. However, that is not an excuse for wizard-born students." 

"Maybe their parents didn't want to admit that they weren't very good at it." 

After a moment's tense silence, Draco sniggered. "You might be on to something, there." 

"Considering the Notts," Severus said, "indubitably." He regarded them speculatively. "Speaking of which, no one has come tattling to me about the two of you, recently. Have you done anything of interest?"

"We've been working on the divination," Harry offered. 

"But safely out of sight," Draco added.

"Ah. Anything of use?" 

"Not yet."

Draco snorted. "But note that is not the same as nothing. Nott's most recent murder sounded terribly familiar at first read."

"And the beads?" 

It was slipped in quite casually. Harry smirked. "Let's just say I'm making progress on that project we discussed." 

Snape nodded. "I did notice several of my Slytherins among the adorned company. Very well." He moved his tea aside and leaned over to open a drawer in the side table. "Which reminds me -- I have something for you." 

"Oh?" Harry peered over, but before he could see what was in Snape's hand, Snape tossed it at his face, and Harry instinctively caught the little object. It was, he realized, Nott's marble. 

"Mr. Potter!" Snape chided. "You _must_ learn to repress that reflex."

"And let it hit me? That would've hurt!" 

"Duck. You had time." Snape scowled. "Perhaps we should practice."

"After the Gryffindor-Slytherin match, maybe," Harry retorted, with a trace of sarcasm.

Snape lifted his eyebrows. "The point is preserving your life, Potter, not muddling your Quidditch skills." 

"But you wouldn't have minded doing that as well."

"Certainly not." With a wave of dismissal, Snape continued. "In two weeks, then. In any case, that little bauble is no longer a portkey. I suggest you keep it with you and perhaps display it when Theodore can see." 

"Right," Harry said with satisfaction. "Maybe I'll toss it to him at some point."

"Cast a giddiness jinx on it first," Draco suggested, with more than a trace of a wicked look that Harry remembered from when they were enemies. 

He didn't even mind. "Excellent." 

 

When they took their leave, it was still an hour until dinner. "Mixed-house space?" Harry suggested. It was about time they put in another appearance there. He caught a glimpse of a calculating look on Draco's face, but it vanished as soon as Harry glanced his way. 

"I was thinking of visiting the Quiris," Draco said. "Want to come along?" 

"Okay," Harry answered, and Draco relaxed and took his hand.

 

Friday's gathering was the most relaxed so far. Apparently feeling less formal after the Quidditch players' early departures the week before, people trailed in over the course of an hour. When everyone was there, they took a minute to confirm the last week's nominees. 

"Could we delay one more week, though?" Ginny asked. "Next Saturday is the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match, and that's nearly half of us who'll need to leave early." 

"It would be better to have everyone here," Padma agreed. 

"I think we should play 'I Never' again," Linnet volunteered.

"You do?" Gilbert asked.

"Well, of course." She lifted her wrist. "It's our badge; haven't you noticed?" 

 

Sunday was a brewing day, but Quidditch practice both Saturday and Sunday morning had left Harry with a lot of schoolwork to do. He cast a cushioning charm on the floor and worked, rather than socializing, through most of the time that the potion was simmering and cooling. Millicent's schedule having been similarly busy, she was happy to do the same. It wasn't until they were ready to leave that they began to actually talk. 

"Shall I cancel the glamour and take a look?" Harry asked. 

Millicent gave a neutral grunt, and Harry discovered that he was tapping his wand against his palm. He wondered when he had picked up that little mannerism from Draco. "Well?" he urged, stepping closer and looking up at her. "Afraid there won't be any change?" 

"I know there's some," Millicent answered, ducking her head.

"How?" 

When I'm getting dressed and-- stuff, my body isn't quite where I think. I have to close my eyes, sometimes, or it throws me off." She bit her lip. "And my balance is off, sometimes." 

"Probably growing quickly," Harry said. "Come on -- let me see. I need to recast it anyway." 

With a lopsided smile, Millicent nodded and took off her robes. Despite the weather, she was wearing a loose short-sleeved shirt under them. Her trousers, at least, looked thick and warm. Harry found the frayed edges of his glamour and dispelled it with a flick of his wand. 

He stared. "Oh."

"What's wrong?" Millicent demanded, her voice low and harsh.

"Wrong?" Harry echoed. "Um, nothing. It's, ah, working." 

"Do I look like a man?"

"No, not yet. Want a mirror?" As in London, he cast a reflection charm so she could see herself. While she studied that, he studied her. 

She was still definitely female. Her breasts were downright terrifying; he imagined that if married against her will, she could easily suffocate her unwelcome husband with them. Formerly, however, she had carried hips to balance the curves on top, and those were narrower, now, though definitely there. Her jaw, also, had lost any softening it had gained in adolescence, and was back to the solid angles that he remembered from second year. She was also taller than she had been, and he thought her shoulders might be even wider. 

"Good thing next weekend is your last autumn match," he said. 

"Huh?" 

"People might start wondering about your bat being several inches from your hand." 

"Oh." 

"Actually, that might be a problem in class, too. I think I'm going to make you an inch taller this week, okay?"

"You have to?" 

"Yes."

She sighed. "Okay." 

Harry looked at the old picture of her for a moment, and then closed his eyes. When he thought he had the face right, he opened his eyes and took her height down from actual, but not quite to where he remembered. "How's that?" he asked.

Millicent looked at herself in the mirror, stuck out her tongue at her reflection, and then turned her back on it. "Fine," she said. "Let's go." 

After gathering their things, they walked back together, splitting up in the Entrance Hall -- Millicent to get ready for Slytherin's Quidditch practice, and Harry to finish his schoolwork. 

 

"Harry!" 

Hermione didn't sound pleased. Harry stopped a few steps above the third floor landing and schooled his face into a neutral expression before turning. 

"What did I do this time?" 

Her eyes narrowed, just as he winced at his own tone. "I wouldn't know, would I?" she replied with menacing sweetness. "You've been gone all afternoon." 

"I was studying." 

"Where? Or more to the point, _what_?"

"Charms and Potions, and it's none of your business. I wasn't gone that long!" 

"An owl came for you in the Common Room, right after lunch. The poor thing won't give up its package to anyone else." 

Harry kept his expression neutral. An owl would almost certainly be from the twins. "Any idea who it's from?" 

Her chin lowered. "The label says "Calamity Chemists", but it's Fred and George. I recognize the writing." 

Harry managed to turn his unease into a laugh. "Trust the twins to have an overly dramatic owl." 

"Harry." Hermione radiated 'not amused' as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Where were you?"

"Out." 

"Were you alone in ..." She hesitated, glancing up and down the stairs. "...your clubhouse?"

Harry smirked. "Alone? There? That isn't what it's _for_." 

"Draco wasn't with you, so don't claim you were just hiding from me! I ran into him an hour ago, and he had no idea where you were either." 

_Brilliant. So now he's going to wonder where I was too. He probably went running right to Snape's rooms._ "Where I go is not your business." _Stupid! I shouldn't have said that._

"Harry, I have better things to do than spend over an hour trying to find you." 

"Then do them!" 

"Fine. Next time, I'll just tell Professor McGonagall that you're missing, and then I can go straight back to my studies." With a huff, she turned on her heel and strode off toward the library. Feeling stunned, Harry climbed slowly up to Gryffindor tower and a waiting owl. 

 

The delivery contained nothing too damning, but the quantity of fluxweed would be hard to explain. Fortunately, the twins had included a large number of samples: Tilt Lines, Babble Drops, and Twister Jacks, as well as more familiar things like Skiving Snackboxes, so Harry had goods from the package to bring down to the Common Room. He unrolled one of the Tilt Lines safely away from the windows and fire, and challenged people to walk on it. When Hermione returned, Sajid was trying to stay on the line for its full two-meter length. He had his arms held out and was teetering madly as he inched down what looked like a stripe of paint on a quiescent carpet. His housemates cheered him on, with those who had already tried it especially enthusiastic in their mixed encouragement and laughter. 

"Want to try?" Harry asked her. He wasn't sure if he was more relieved or disappointed when she left in a huff. 

He thought, as he turned back to where Sajid, with mock care, was picking himself up off the floor, that he should take Snape up on his offer. If Hermione set McGonagall on him, that could jeopardize all of Millicent's plans. Also, if the twins were connected to the scheme, he might be unable to obtain substances that he and Draco needed for the next divination. 

There was no way to see Snape tonight, but the Slytherin Quidditch team had another practice scheduled for tomorrow, right before dinner. That would keep Draco from interfering. 

 

"Better late than never," Snape said pointedly, as he snatched his copy of _Preemptive Defense_ from Harry's hands. Harry rolled his eyes. 

"I did try earlier, sir," he said. "Yesterday, for example." 

"My spellson interfered?"

"He spotted me on the way down." 

"And you are still telling him nothing."

Harry glared. "I tell him _almost_ everything."

"Of course." Snape settled back in his chair. "Enough of that. Summarize your understanding of the Credulity spell."

The phrase was wrong, Harry thought, but once he realized that the correct form was "Credulity curse", he didn't want to correct it. 

"The Credulity spell," he said, "has been called a 'watered-down Imperius curse', but it is even less like Imperius than approved Ministry interrogation draughts are like Veritaserum. It does not provide the caster with a means to coerce action, prevent the target from understanding his actions, or artificially reward compliance. What it does do is make the target less inclined to analyze anything said by the caster. In most cases, this means that what the caster says is believed, even if comparison to other sources or the context of the remarks shows them to be unlikely."

"Not abysmal," Snape said. Harry thought that terribly unfair, unless he'd got something wrong. "It is at least clear that you read the source. However, I can tell by your sudden demonstration of a precise vocabulary that you are largely reciting what you have read." His face tightened in disapproval as he focused on Harry. "In your own words, please." 

Harry bit his lip. "Okay. If I use this on ... someone, that person will be more likely to believe me, but only _more likely_. It's like their critical thinking is shut off, but just for me, and if I try to tell them something counter to really ingrained beliefs, it wouldn't work. So if I told Hermione that the N.E.W.T.s are useless, for example, she wouldn't believe me, because she just couldn't believe something like that. But if I told her my revising was on track with the schedule she handed me first week, she probably would."

"And that is unlikely?" Snape asked acerbically.

"It's almost impossible! I'd have to be revising five hours a day, in addition to doing assignments! So if someone else led her through the critical thinking part -- like helping her make a list of all my known activities -- Quidditch, and my Transfiguration project, and so on -- they might be able to convince her that it was mathematically impossible."

"Better," Snape allowed. He ran a finger along the spine of the book. "And do you wish to learn it?"

Harry sighed. "Not really, but I think I'd better."

"Explain."

"I have too many important secrets. If it was just sneaking off with Draco for fun, that wouldn't be worth this, but there's the divination, and if she caught me with some of the dodgier potion ingredients...."

"I see." 

"And then there's making allies in your house."

"I do hope you do not intend to use this spell as a means of forming alliances."

"Oh, no! I mean, that makes her anxious when she doesn't really have a good reason." 

"Ah, yes. Have you been getting along with Mr. Clarke?" 

It took a moment for Harry to translate that to 'Gilbert'. "Reasonably," he replied. "How did you know?"

Snape reached forward and took one of Harry's green beads between thumb and forefinger, giving in a little spin. "These. They are worn by two Ravenclaws, as well."

"Er, yes." 

"Are the colors significant?" 

"Yes," Harry said cheekily, stopping at that, and Snape snorted. 

"Point taken. Now, the spell. What is the emotional requirement?"

"Confidence that you should be believed." With a steady gaze, Harry met Snape's challenging look. "That won't be a problem, sir." 

"And when you are lying?"

"If I lie, it's about things that are no one's business." 

"I see," Snape replied with a sneer. "Yes, I think this one will be a natural for you." 

 

The spell was not a particularly tricky one. Snape went over the incantation, and the most subtle possible wand movement. "Ideally, of course, one would learn to cast the spell wandlessly. Have you any experience with wandless magic, Potter?"

"Other than the accidental sort?"

"Yes, of course. Magic done as a little child is different." 

"Well, it's not like it was that long ago!"

Snape's head turned slowly, like that of a snake seeking a scent. "You have performed accidental magic since coming to Hogwarts?"

"Well, yeah," Harry replied, puzzled. 

"When was the most recent incident?"

"Um... a bit over a year ago. I, uh-- Dudley and his gang were after me, and I made Piers trip, and then Dudley fell over him."

"Are you sure it was you, and not chance?"

"Yeah, of course. There's this kind of feeling like the world's narrowed to a single point...."

"Like the tip of a wand," Snape said, satisfied. "You might be able to learn." He waved the matter off. "Back to that later; this is not the spell to begin with. For now, I suggest you consider how you might cover the casting by adding it on the end of some other, common spell -- for example, a charm to clean extraneous blots off parchment? Or do you not know that one?"

Harry glared. "I know it."

"Then why don't you use it?"

"I'm not good at cleaning spells."

Snape snorted. "You mean that you don't know it. You know _of_ it, and sometimes get lucky."

"Look, are you going to teach me this curse or not?"

Snape hesitated. "There is little more we can do without a subject."

"I could cast it on you." 

"No," Snape said fiercely. "Nor will I call in one of my house for experimentation."

"So, we don't actually know if I know this, because casting it at the wall doesn't do anything." Harry was sure of that. He didn't feel any different.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Your serpent, perhaps?"

"No!" Harry took a breath. "It wouldn't tell us anything anyway. She always believes me." 

With a nod, Snape approved the objection. "You are her master."

Remembering how Draco had practically crackled with Dark energy after his tutoring session with Snape, last spring, Harry frowned. "What did you do with Draco? Before Easter, last year?" 

"Many of the spells were purely physical in nature, and for those a mouse or spider -- transfigured to provide the proper anatomy, if needed -- sufficed. Others we left at targetless casting, although I agree it is not the same.

"My suggestion is this: You have learned the incantation and wand motion. If you feel you need the spell during the next week and a half, try it. If not, or if you attempt it and fail, I will meet you in Hogsmeade during the next Hogsmeade weekend, and apparate us both to a Muggle community, where you may try out the spell with little danger of being caught."

Harry considered that. Though technically a curse, the spell did no long term damage, according to the text and to Snape. If he lifted it before leaving, his subject would not be harmed. Slowly, he nodded, and then looked keenly up. "Why wait?" 

"Ah. Because an addition to the wards alerts the headmaster when you cross." 

"Me specifically?" Harry asked, outraged.

"Exactly." 

" _Just_ me?"

"Not quite. I had him add Draco, as well. Mr. Nott, he had thought of on his own. Altogether, there are perhaps a half-dozen students." 

"Perhaps." 

Snape shrugged. "I do not know about those from other houses. Let us say that Professor Dumbledore assures me that it is not only you and Slytherins." 

"Well, that's something!" Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "Thank you for warning me," he added sarcastically.

"You're welcome." 

"How long have these been in place?"

"Since a few days after the portkey attempt." Snape scowled. "Do not feel you are being persecuted, Potter. The headmaster is more concerned with the potential for kidnapping than rulebreaking." 

"What about Floo?" Harry asked. 

"Excuse me?"

"Could I floo out without setting this off?" 

Snape thought for a moment. "Perhaps," he said. He considered it for another moment. "It seems likely. The magical channels of the Floo network would probably obscure your passage. However, as this matter is both non-urgent and certain to provoke censure, this is not the occasion for which to risk the attempt."

"Okay," Harry agreed. "How about the Quiri-repelling one?" 

"I will teach you the theory." 

"Yeah, I suppose we wouldn't want to risk injuring them."

Snape snorted. "Unlikely, Potter. No, as you said, casting a Credulity curse at the wall doesn't do anything. I doubt you have actually built up sufficient Dark energy." 

 

That was an interesting idea. On his way back to the stairs, Harry stopped at the Quiris' room. Cautiously, he opened the door and peered inside. They looked a little bit dangerous, but not hideous. Tuktuk raised her thick mane and hissed at him from across the room. With a sigh, Harry closed the door and headed up to Gryffindor. 

 

On the third floor, he hesitated. Perhaps he should look in the library and see if Hermione was there? Hadn't she mentioned something about her avoiding him, as if that would be normal, when she'd said he wasn't with Draco? He _hadn't_ been avoiding her, really, but he had been ignoring her a lot, and now that he thought about it, he remembered how horrible that it felt to be ignored the year before. He didn't see her in the library, and after a quick look around, he walked out again, Madam Pince's glare warning his back, and went on to the official mixed-house space. 

He had been looking for Draco, but Hermione was sitting with him and Blaise. Harry hurried over to them. "Hi," he said. "Room for a fourth?" 

With a warm smile, Draco moved over. "Of course. Not out hiding this afternoon?"

Harry shrugged. "No reason to. Sometimes I just need to get away."

"Hm. As long as it's not too far away." 

"No chance of that!" Harry answered, his irritation coming through more than he had expected. "Dumbledore's apparently extended the wards so they alert him if I cross them."

Blaise laughed. "And did you find this out the hard way?" 

"Of course not!" Harry decided that he shouldn't let on about Snape. Maybe Dumbledore might have chastised him with it? "I was _informed_ ," he said, as if the experience had been unpleasant. 

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said sympathetically. 

"Actually, he claimed it was due to the attack, not fear of what I'd do on my own." 

"Attack?" Hermione's voice rose. "What _attack_?" 

"Oh -- didn't I tell you -- I didn't want to worry you, and then I forgot--" Harry babbled, feeling his face heat. Maybe he really _had_ been ignoring her. Probably he hadn't wanted to say _when_ it had happened, but he could have told her a few days later. 

"Theo," Draco said mildly. "I mentioned it, the day he showed up at breakfast with me."

"Not as something the headmaster would take an interest in!" She leaned toward Harry, eyes narrowed. "Talk." 

"It was nothing, really. He shoved a portkey down my shirt."

"But portkeys--"

"Yeah. They don't work on me anymore," Harry completed quickly. "So changing the wards is a bit much." 

Slowly, the confusion cleared from her face. "Well," she said, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. "You can't blame people for being concerned, Harry." She bit her lip. "I mean, if there's been an attempt already." 

"I'm surprised there haven't been dozens!" Blaise said cheekily. "Although the portkey failing has probably staved off some, as has Professor Snape taking his side about it."

"Look," Harry said desperately, "could we talk about something else?" 

"How's your Charms essay coming?" Hermione asked.

"I finished it yesterday." He shot her a look. "While I was 'missing', if you must know." 

"Oh!" She looked startled by that. Draco nodded. 

"One of _those_ points, was it? Sometime I hide out for the tricky bits, too. Conclusion paragraphs are the worst. As for me, I'm stuck on this Transfiguration question...." 

Steered to safe topics, the conversation became amiably productive. By the time they left for dinner, Harry had decided that maybe, if he was careful, he wouldn't need to use the Credulity curse on Hermione. It was still a worthwhile precaution, he told himself, pushing back a flush of guilt. If he did need it, he might not have much warning.

 

Saturday morning dawned overcast and windy. Harry didn't like it. A fresh wind could make flying more exhilarating, but this was the sort of blustery, biting November gale that made it hard to keep hold of a broom. As captain, he felt responsible for the other members of the team, and he couldn't help feeling a little anxious in this sort of weather. He would be fine himself, of course. And the players from last year had been through this before. The only new members were Ron and Ginny, he realized, and felt better immediately. Both of them could take a lot. 

On the way down to the pitch, when he saw how pink Draco's face had grown in the wind, he had to remind himself that Draco was not his boyfriend during the match. They had agreed on that. On the pitch with their teams, they were rivals, and nothing was personal -- it wasn't who they were anywhere else. Then, walking out to the pitch, he saw Millicent stumble, and had someone else to worry about. She'd said she was having balance problems. Could she handle flying in a high wind while throwing her weight behind swings at heavy Bludgers? If she hurt herself was it his fault? It was just this one match, he told himself. This ended the autumn season. 

At Madam Hooch's whistle, both teams kicked off into the air, and for several minutes, Harry could think about little besides dodging other flying bodies as he adjusted to the feel of the buffeting winds. Others were doing the same. When play started in earnest, it was slow, but aggressive. The heavy Bludgers were unaffected by the conditions, but long passes of the Quaffle tended to go off-course, keeping play close and scores low. As for the little Snitch, Harry hadn't yet caught sight of it, though he did, at one point, twitch towards a yellow and white mitten that blew out of the stands. 

Ernie's voice carried over the gusts. "Gryffindor scores! Twenty to naught, Gryffindor in possession-- Oh! Now Slytherin in possession. Nott diving under-- OUCH! A hit! Former keeper, Cornelia Carter, has certainly taken to her new position! Gryffindor in possession, Greengrass moving in--"

Astoria Greengrass was part of Slytherin's problem, Harry thought, as he watched her fail to intercept Ginny. She definitely could fly -- he had seen her in practice -- but today she seemed more interested in being dramatically blown off course. It couldn't be her size -- Ginny was just as small and light. Millicent wasn't either small or light, but Harry had already seen her unbalance forward from a swing. Her changing body was bigger than she was used to. 

As his hands and face froze, the score climbed to 90-40, but the passes grew weaker and more were missed. With determination, he swooped in slow circles, scanning the airspace of the pitch. A yard or two above and to the side, Draco did the same. Suddenly a startled shriek drew his attention. Millicent! She was half off her broom, hanging by her hands and one knee, and slowly tilting over. 

"Mill!" He dove towards her, though he couldn't have said what he intended to do -- steady her, maybe?"

"The Slytherin Seeker dives!" Ernie shouted. "Potter's caught off-guard--" 

Smoothly, Millicent righted herself, and Harry realized he'd been had and spun about. He was accelerating towards Draco before he could consciously see him, but it was too late. He was still yards away when Draco seized the Snitch. 

 

The Slytherin team tumbled down in an ecstatic muddle, Draco at the center of it, and people thumping Millicent on the back in passing.

"What the fuck was that?" Cornelia said furiously, overtaking Harry as he reluctantly spiraled down. 

"A trick, apparently," Harry retorted, his face starting to burn. He dove away before she could reply and landed near the Slytherin celebration. 

Millicent had somehow managed to stay on the edge of the group, despite the attention she was getting. Harry doubted she was embarrassed. Probably she just didn't want anyone noticing that her body wasn't where it was supposed to be. He strode up to her without being blocked. She was huge in her padded Beater's robes. He didn't care. 

"Can't win without cheating, Mill?" he snarled. _I will not hit her._ Still, the hard lines of his nails pressed into his palm as his fists tightened. _I could. She does want to be a boy, after all._

"There's nothing in the rules about dramatics," she shot back, scowling. "It was sly, that's all." 

"And getting me worried about your balance for the last two weeks?" he demanded furiously. "I was _helping_ you. You were _faking_ all that, weren't you? Getting your lies in place--"

"No! It's--" She looked uneasily around. The teams were listening now. Draco had his hand clenched tight around the arm of Cecilius, the other Beater, holding him back. "What business is it of yours?" she said angrily. "I'm not _fragile_ , Potter. I don't need your protection." 

Harry froze. The heat drained from his anger, leaving it hard. "Then you won't have it," he said. He gave the statement a moment to hit home. When dismay began to spread across her face, he turned and strode away. 

 


	25. Uneasy Associations

 

"See, this is what you get for trusting Slytherins," Ron said. 

"Though she certainly bided her time," Ginny added tightly, "if you've been friends since summer." 

If any of the Gryffindors blamed Harry for losing the match, Ron, Dean, Ginny, and Jason were keeping them off. The constant affirmation was making Harry queasy. He kept seeing the look on Millicent's face. He had been humiliated, and had wanted to hurt her, but how much had she changed, by now? If he didn't meet her tonight, was he messing up the rest of her life? 

_She should be able to cast her own glamours. It's not my fault she's stupid._

He didn't like how that sounded, even in his head. 

"It was a dirty trick. Oliver would have flayed her."

"Oliver WOULDN'T HAVE FALLEN FOR IT!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair. "Oliver would have been furious at _me_ , not her. I _know_ she's a Slytherin. I _know_ the closest friendships in the world don't count on the pitch! Draco and I made it explicit before the match -- no holds barred, nothing is personal -- and I should have been thinking about her in _the same way_." 

He stood there, his stomach twisting. Ron's mouth was open. No one in the Gryffindor common room was speaking above a whisper. "I'm sorry," he announced, to the room at large, since he obviously had everyone's attention, unwelcome as it was. "I let my personal life onto the pitch, because I was so centered on trying _not_ to do that with Draco that I didn't think about the rest of it. I messed up, and I cost us the match. I'll try my best to make it up in the spring." 

Whispers turned to mutters as he retreated to the boys' staircase. He was surprised to hear a few scattered people clapping, and looked over his shoulder to see if it was sincere or sarcastic. Cornelia gave him a respectful nod, and Parvati a beaming smile, and Seamus a grim-faced thumbs up, so at least some of them meant it. Harry smiled weakly and continued upstairs. He had a Slytherin to apologize to, and he should do it now, so she could enjoy the rest of her party. 

 

Harry stopped in the doorway of the crowded Slytherin Common Room. A nearby lower-year registered his presence and whipped around. "Potter!" the boy shouted in warning, and rowdy conversation muted to whispers in outward waves as people turned to look.

Harry stepped forward. "Millicent?" he called. He couldn't see her -- until she stood up, glaring at him over the heads of the people around her. 

"What?" she snapped back. 

"It was clever. I'm sorry I lost my temper." 

In the momentary silence, Draco's "Damn!" carried. He was over near Millicent. People between them laughed in relief. Harry was curious, but when he moved towards Millicent, he was careful to stay aware of everyone about him. He would be easy to attack, in this crowd, if anyone recovered from their shock before he made it to allies. Rather than drawing wands, people parted to let him pass, and he reached the sofas unscathed. Draco was handing a few coins over to Blaise. 

"Did you think I'd stay angry?" Harry asked, flushing. 

"I thought you wouldn't apologize until tomorrow," Draco retorted. "You were never that quick with me." 

"What, last year? It always took me that long to _find_ you. Now I can just walk in." He turned to Millicent. Her eyes were suspiciously pink, and she had her arms crossed in a manner that might be seen as either threatening or defensive. 

"Look," he said, "I'm sorry I was an arse." He pulled out the bottle of cognac that had been weighing down his robes, and offered it to her. "For your party. It's still sealed." 

Millicent didn't take it. "What changed your mind?" she asked. 

Uncomfortably, Harry shrugged. "I needed to cool off, that's all. And someone said Oliver would have gone after you, and I had to object that no, he would have had my bollocks for falling for it." Someone moved to Millicent's side, and Harry reminded himself to be careful. It was Pansy, and she was regarding him with undisguised hatred. 

"Here's a glass, Millicent, darling," she said, not at all affectionately. "Open the bottle and make him drink some."

Belatedly, Millicent took the bottle. "I'm sure Potter wouldn't--"

"Hush, dear. Thinking isn't your strong point."

"Millicent's right," Harry shot back angrily. "Poison isn't Gryffindor's style. On the other hand, I'm not sure I trust your glass."

She shrugged. "Swig it from the bottle, if you like."

With a glance over at Draco, Harry dug in his pocket again, and pulled out the marble that had once been a portkey. "Draco. Make me a glass, would you, please?" 

Draco took the marble and chuckled as he held it aloft. The whispers that had grown around them sputtered into silence. Nott, who had started towards them from near the wall, turned and stalked off into the corridor to the boys' dormitories. 

"Still carrying this little bauble, are you?" Draco said airily. "Shall I keep the snake motif?"

"As you like." 

"Hm." Draco set down the marble on the table, and gave it a tap. It spun as if it was on a potter's wheel rather than under his wand. He drew the tip up, and the glass rose around it into a curving bowl, with the snake underneath. Another slow draw up from where the glass met the table gave the vessel a wide foot and a short stem with the tail of the black snake curled around it. He slowed the spin and coaxed the head of the snake half-way up the bowl. Because of the size of the marble, the whole thing was small, but not quite as small as Harry had expected.

"Here you go, my love." 

Harry took the vessel and found his middle finger slid nicely into the space between the head of the snake and the next coil. The glass was not quite as thin and fine as the ones Draco had from home, but it was much less thick than those Draco had made before, and shaped like a proper snifter. 

"You are _brilliant_ ," he said. 

"Yes, it's almost like magic," Pansy said cattily. Harry sighed. 

"And you have no appreciation for a developing art," he said sharply, and turning, held out the glass. 

"Pour me some, Mill," he said. "I haven't tried this one yet." 

She laughed slightly as she complied. "I haven't seen you like this since London." 

"Like what?" 

"When you were firing spells off at the Muggle offices to see what protections they had? Like that." 

Draco smiled slightly. "Ah. As arrogant and lawless as our head of house used to claim? Yes, it's occasional." He eased closer to Harry. " _Do_ tell me this story, love." 

"Some other time," Harry muttered, taking a swallow of the cognac. It had layers of flavor below the heat of the alcohol, but he didn't have the concentration to appreciate them. Draco was laughing as brightly as his mother, the sound as brittle as glass. 

"Not a matter for public discussion?"

"Exactly. So _later_."

Draco studied him. "Hm," he said. "Very well, but soon." With some complicated-looking wandwork and murmured incantations, he summoned snifters from his room. Harry heard the dormitory room door shut behind the flying glasses and wondered which side of it Nott was on. 

Millicent looked away. "I shouldn't have mentioned it," she muttered. 

Harry thought quickly. He wasn't sure how he should frame the matter for Draco when they talked, but clearly Millicent was afraid that what they had been discussing would come out. And perhaps Draco had just been offering a way for him to show off. He had generally agreed that the Slytherins had more respect for Harry when they thought of him as someone who knew how to get around rules. What else had he recommended? Right -- looking like he was under Draco's influence.

"Oh, don't worry about it," he said casually. "Draco was around for my first experiments with Muggle alarm systems." He grinned at Draco. "After all, I couldn't let him get in trouble." 

His eyebrows rising, Draco held out the glasses to Millicent, who poured two measures of the cognac. He handed one to her. The glass Pansy had brought was now sitting untouched on a small table behind her. 

"To developing skills," he said dryly, raising his glass in toast. 

That, Harry thought, could mean any number of things, but he joined the two of them in the clink of glass and taste of cognac. He kept it to a sip, knowing he couldn't afford the added risk of being slowed down or unsteady whilst surrounded by all of Slytherin house. Lowering the glass, he caught Millicent's eye. The Slytherin Common Room was not well lit, but he thought there might be a faint blur to her face. 

"We still need to talk," he said. "Step outside with me for a moment?" 

"As if she would!" Pansy exclaimed. 

With the intimidating slowness of a bear, Millicent turned to face her. "Do you think he--" she jabbed her finger at more of a downward angle than Harry thought really necessary-- "is going to beat me up?" 

"Hardly," Draco put in. He nudged Harry. "However, _you_ might want a chaperone, love."

"Why? She can't be _that_ angry at me." 

"She was hiding in her room," Draco snapped. "Pansy and I had to practically _force_ her to come out to the party." 

Sighing, Harry handed Draco his glass. "Then we definitely need to say a few things to each other in private. Here, hold my drink, in case Snape's outside. We're just going to pop out to the corridor for a mo."

Biting her lip, Millicent nodded and put the bottle on the table. "Blaise? Help Malfoy keep an eye on the booze. Oh, and take some. I'll risk keeping hold of my glass." 

 

Out in the hallway, Millicent looked significantly at the door. "People will be listening, you know."

"As long as that's all they're doing," Harry answered, drawing his wand. With his free hand, he tapped his glasses and then pointed to the door, and she shook her head. 

"So talk, Potter," she said, covering his whispered incantations as he renewed her glamours. "What did you so badly need to say?"

He cast around for something and blurted out, " _Fragile_ has nothing to do with it. I look after my friends. Were you actually offended?"

"Yeah, I was offended! Would you have dove for Weasley if he was falling off his broom?" she asked sarcastically. 

"Of course! For Hagrid, if it came to it -- not that I can imagine him on one." 

"You're mental, Harry. What could you do?"

"You don't have to be able to hold someone up to steady them." 

For a moment, she just stared, open-mouthed, and then, with a shake of her head, rested one of her hands heavily on his shoulder. "All right, then. It was still stupid, you know. The referees are supposed to handle emergencies."

He sighed. "I'm not good at remembering that sort of thing," he admitted. "I think of adults as automatically useless."

" _You're_ an adult," she pointed out. 

"Okay. Well, adults in charge."

"You're that too, really." 

Harry looked uncomfortably away. "People who ought to take care of me, then. Maybe we should go in."

"Yeah." She looked at the door. "I'll go first." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "My hero." 

 

 

They found Draco sitting with his feet up on the table next to the bottle of cognac, and his arms crossed over his chest. 

"All set," Harry said cheerily, dropping onto the cushion next to him. 

"Your drink's there," Draco said, motioning to the glass. "No one's put anything in it." 

"Good," Harry said, ignoring it. 

He leaned in to kiss the side of Draco's mouth. Draco remained stubbornly still as Harry brushed his lips as far forward as he could reach. Slowly, Draco's mouth opened, but not to turn and kiss back. 

"Tell me what you're thinking of," he whispered, as if they weren't surrounded by his housemates, and Harry had a sudden feeling of dark weight, as if a storm had settled over them. His answer, he knew, would be terribly important. 

Nervously, he licked his lips. "Bats," he said softly. 

Draco finally turned. "Bats?" 

"I wasn't all that pissed off that I lost," Harry confessed. "It was that I didn't get to _try_. It was my last chance to try against you." 

Quite suddenly, Draco had his arms around him, his face hidden against Harry's robes. Harry kissed his hair. "You would have had to have signaled her," he said, as neutrally as he could.

Draco nodded, the motion hard against Harry's shoulder before he lifted his head. "Yes. I was terrified of it." 

"Of tricking me?" 

"Of my last time trying against you. In front of everyone."

"Ah." 

Draco kissed him then, desperately, and Harry concentrated on enjoying it. Their time as rivals was over, however unsatisfactorily it had ended. They let up when Millicent started to count out loud and Blaise to offer odds on when they'd stop, but they still stayed leaned close together, the edge of Harry's nose touching Draco's cheek. 

"We need to get those free-form matches going in the spring," Draco said.

"Huh?"

"Because we're both right. That wasn't enough for our last time flying against each other, but we need to be just _us_ , not our houses." 

"Yeah." 

Their lips touched. A sharp slap stung Harry's arm. 

"Start that again, and I'll stop watching your drinks!" Blaise hissed. 

"Spoilsport," Harry complained, but he sat back and picked up his glass. With a smirk, Draco mirrored him. Quite a few other people had drinks, now, and the bottle was half-empty. Most of the youngest kids seemed to have cleared out. Gentian, who had apparently been lingering in the corridor to the girl's dormitories, gave Harry a little wave before ducking out of sight. On a quick look around, Harry could only see a few possible third years and no one younger than that. The smaller group meant that more of the remaining Slytherins were sitting. The sofa that he and Draco and Millicent were on was one of five in a wide arc around the fireplace. Blaise, who had been standing behind Millicent, moved to the near end of the next one, joining Astoria Greengrass and Victoria Nott, who were both fifth-year girls. Theodore Nott wasn't anywhere in sight. Pansy, rather than being seated near Draco, was at the far end of the arc, across from Victoria, with Daphne Greengrass next to her, and Hugh Cecilius -- the younger student who hadn't believed Harry about Voldemort last spring -- next to Daphne. There was a sofa full of people Harry recognized but didn't know the names of -- two sixth year students and one fifth-year, he thought -- and then another girl of that sort on the next, but she was sitting next to Gilbert, who was next to Linnet, who was nearest to Draco on the other side. Harry glanced over at her and she winked and shook her bracelet back, making him smile. 

Cecilius leaned forward, his gaze resting on Harry's bracelet before snapping up to his face. "You're wearing one of those too," he said. "And I'd thought _Malfoy_ would be the girl." 

Harry tensed. "Neither of us is a girl, Cecilius."

"And we rather like it that way," Draco added airily, although Harry could feel how tight his arm had become against Harry's leg. 

"Then why the jewelry?"

"I'm afraid I really can't talk about it," Harry said smugly. 

"Oh, come now!" Astoria said. "Prove you can be a good sport. Do the beads mean anything? Linnet's been quite coy." 

Harry grinned and Linnet giggled. "I'll tell you about _one_ ," Harry conceded. He held out his arm so she could see the beads. "Only one, for all of you. Pick." 

"Hm." Astoria actually got up from her seat and came to the other side of the coffee table in front of Harry's couch. She was still wearing her Chaser's robes, although the green hue was only obvious on the side of her that faced the fire. Away from it, they were darkened to near black by the dim light. She slipped a finger under the strand of beads to lift it. "Linnet," she said. "Show me yours as well." 

After comparing Harry's strand to Linnet's, Gilbert's, and Draco's -- Millicent refused to display hers -- Astoria made her choice. "The clear one," she said, touching it. "No one else has one." 

Harry thought he would have done it the other way -- there was no color that all four of them had, but he, Draco, and Linnet all had Ravenclaw blue for having fallen asleep in the library, and he, Draco, and Gilbert all had bright pink for having kissed a girl and grey-flecked black for having used Dark Arts, a challenge Blaise had called in the second round of play. Still, he nodded. "Right. No one else has one, because I'm the only Parselmouth." 

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh!" 

"What's that like?" asked a younger kid eagerly, leaning on the back of the couch behind the fifth years. After a moment, Harry placed him as one of the kids he hadn't turned into a frog in Horsyr's classroom. Seldon? No, Seymour. He'd be a fourth-year now. "It sounds creepy." 

"It depends on the snake," Harry said. "Susara -- my torclinde -- is sweet. A python I met in London Zoo was funny. Salazar Slytherin's Basilisk was _totally_ creepy." 

"I think he meant the _sound_ was creepy," Draco pointed out.

"I can't really hear how it sounds," Harry admitted. "To me, it just sounds like sort of hissy English." 

"Forget that!" Gilbert exclaimed. "Salazar's basilisk? What are you on about?"

"The monster," Harry explained. "When those people were paralyzed and Ginny Weasley was kidnapped? It was a basilisk that Salazar Slytherin had hidden deep in the school. Someone let it out, and it traveled through the walls next to the plumbing. I could hear it hissing _'Blood. Kill--'"_

Susara's body trembled against his arm. "Damn! Harry exclaimed. "Hold on a tic." 

_"Come out, beautiful,"_ he coaxed. She did move, but her progress was slow and twitchy. _"I was telling a history,"_ he said into his sleeve. _"I was quoting a very big, crazy snake that hurt people here, years ago."_

After another second, her head emerged, and she flicked her scarlet tongue out, testing the air. _"It confused me to have you speak so. You do not feel angry, but it was at the edge of your voice."_

" _I did not intend to say it in your tongue,"_ he admitted. _"I confused all the people too."_

The image appeared to amuse her. _"May I come out?"_ she asked.

_"Yes, but stay with me."_

With thought assent, she emerged from his sleeve and curled up in his lap in a golden coil. He could tell she was displaying her bond to him, and found himself proud of her bravery. 

"Sorry," Harry said to his listeners. "I hadn't meant to lapse into Parseltongue, and I rather scared her, I think. Anyway, I'd hear this voice in the wall saying --" he concentrated on forming the words in English -- "'kill' and 'blood' and things about how hungry it was, and a couple of times I followed it, and ended up somewhere right after an attack--" 

Several people laughed at that, with tones ranging from derision to sympathy. Harry shrugged. "Anyway, I didn't know what it was until later, and I didn't see it until Ron and I went after Ginny, and we managed to -- well, I managed to -- find the Chamber of Secrets. The person who'd opened the Chamber was down there, and he set the basilisk on me."

"And you survived?"

"Fawkes -- Dumbledore's phoenix, if you've ever seen him -- blinded it, and brought me the Sorting Hat, which brought me the sword of Gryffindor. I could barely lift the thing, and had no idea how to use it, but the basilisk was wild -- not surprising, really, considering how long it had been down there -- and blind, and all I had to do was hold the blade out while it tried to bite me, and it impaled itself. 

"And you weren't bitten?" someone challenged. 

"Oh, I was. But--"

"That would be fatal." 

"But Fawkes cried for me. Phoenix tears can cure practically anything." 

"Potter," Pansy said derisively, "I have never in my life heard a more absurd fabrication. You can't expect anyone to believe that, no matter how many points Bumblebore mysteriously awarded to you. Besides, it was common knowledge that--" 

"I'm quite certain it's true," Draco countered, almost idly. The press of his hand into Harry's leg was a warning to silence. 

"Of course you are. You'll believe _anything_ from him, clearly." 

Draco smirked and took a sip of his drink. "As it happens, I cleaned up the decayed remains of a forty-two foot basilisk with a Bone-Burning curse. Before, I might add, Harry and I started to correspond with each other, which was before we started to associate with each other, which was before we were close enough that I would have considered believing anything of the sort, had I not seen the evidence. The thing you need to understand about Harry is that the most outrageous things happen to him; the only lie he has any proficiency in is false protestations that he was studying quietly at the time you are asking about." 

Millicent snorted. "I think I've heard that one." 

"Did you keep any of the skin?" Blaise asked Draco eagerly. "At that age--" 

"No. Sadly, it was too decayed to be usable, and the venom, of course, had evaporated. I did save a fang -- it's not in Slytherin, but I can show it to you tomorrow, if you wish."

"Brilliant." 

"So, are any other hideously dangerous creatures likely to emerge from this secret lair?" Gilbert asked. 

"No, although it did take me a while to think to check," Harry answered. But it takes a Parselmouth to open it, anyway." Harry grinned at Draco. "Though I _did_ leave it open once. And when I went back, someone had burnt the basilisk to ash." 

With a moue of disgust, Draco waved a hand in front of his nose. "It _stank_ , Harry. You should thank me." 

"I did, I think." Harry imagined what it must have looked like -- the dead basilisk crumpled over itself like a massive algae-green cable with blue flame erupting from inside. "Though I'm sorry I missed seeing the burn-off." 

With a huff of caught laughter, Draco patted Harry's thigh. "Darling. You would have fled in terror at my smile." 

"Hexed you and turned you over to the headmaster, more like," Harry retorted. He didn't think Draco had ever called him "darling" before. He sounded like Pansy. "Though, yeah. We never would have become friends if I'd seen you cast a curse like that beforehand." 

"No familiarity with Dark Arts?" Victoria Nott said, her face pinched with disdain. 

"Are you mental?" Harry asked. "Plenty, thanks -- but all of it before that from people who wanted to _kill_ me." 

Smirking, Blaise leaned forward to look past Millicent. "So, Harry," he called, "have you ever _done_ any Dark Arts?"

Harry tried to glare, but his scowl failed with a laugh. "You know I have. Git." 

"You wouldn't dare," Pansy exclaimed.                           

"Dare?" Harry repeated incredulously, but Draco, Millicent, and Blaise were sniggering, as were several people he didn't know. 

"If there is one thing Harry does _not_ lack," Draco said, "it is nerve." 

"Fine, then!" Pansy retorted. "He would disapprove." 

Harry shrugged. "I sometimes do things anyway." 

"Mm," Linnet said. "I know what that green bead means." 

Harry reddened. "Ask me in some other place, and I may tell you the story." 

"I'll do that," she said. 

"So, what sort of Dark Arts have you done?" Seymour pressed. 

Harry looked at Draco and found his face set in haughty blankness, which was never a good sign. "Not something I want to talk about," he answered, but Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. 

"The one I taught you should be safe, Potter. The headmaster knows about it already, so no one can bear damaging tales." 

 Harry wasn't quite sure what Draco intended, but he decided to play along. "Control Spirit," he answered. "It allows you to give one command to a ghost. I used it to ensure Moaning Myrtle wouldn't tell about something she'd seen me and Draco do." 

Smirks and rude sounds made it clear that many of the Slytherins were assuming something salacious. 

"How's it cast?" Seymour asked. 

"Oh, you need--" Harry stopped abruptly as Draco's palm pressed against his open mouth. 

" _No instruction_ ," Draco said. "I'm Head Boy, and I won't have a load of ignorant lower years, with no concept of or respect for the Dark Arts, running around in the state you were in that night." 

Harry licked Draco's palm. 

"Hey!" Draco pulled his hand away and after waving it around for a moment, wiped it on Harry's trousers. "What was that?"

"I get your point, all right?" Harry said. "No need to keep me gagged. Anyway, it was _there_." Taking a swallow of his drink, he scanned around the room. "There _is_ rather a lot of glass for them to break. Are there really Slytherins who don't know Dark Arts?" 

"Most of us, Harry," Blaise said dryly. 

"It's really mostly, er, _people like Draco_ who have practical exposure," Gilbert explained. 

"Is it common in Gryffindor?" Linnet asked innocently.

"Merlin, no!" Harry said fervently. "Hermione's still watching me like a hawk from last spring." 

"I can't imagine why you'd put up with something so demeaning from someone like _that_ ," Pansy said nastily. 

"Well, let's see," Blaise said, stretching back. "Brilliant, beautiful, helpful.... I can see why he might tolerate a little protective disapproval. Though I presume he doesn't care about her looks." 

"I'm bi, actually," Harry said. "But yeah, not looking, and if I was, it wouldn't be at her." 

Not your type?" Pansy asked, as if making a point. Harry shrugged. 

"I've known her too long to say, really. She's like a sister; I've never understood how Ron can _kiss_ her." 

"I think Mudbloods are rather interesting," piped up one of the fifth- or sixth-year boys. The one next to him twitched. 

"Julian!" he choked.

"Of course, it doesn't do to say so, so I usually don't, because arguing is unpleasant and takes too much time and I'm not good at it, sadly, but it's good to get a fresh perspective, now and then, and people without Wizarding upbringings come out with such unique ideas. Some of them are rot, of course, but then there's things like the ink that turns a different color if you spell a word wrong, which I'm told is--" 

One of his friends hit him with a muting hex. Draco reached across the table, took his glass, and sniffed it. 

"Hm. Babbling Draught, I'd say. Pansy, darling, would this happen to be the glass that you offered my boyfriend?"

She smirked triumphantly. "Yes. Nothing harmful, you see? I'm not going to damage your little pet." 

"As long as he didn't get to talking about the war," Draco said. "That could be trouble all around." 

"It's not like I'm privy to much," Harry objected, ignoring Pansy's insult. "Now that Snape isn't a double agent, I'd be unlikely to say anything that Voldemort could use." 

Slytherins cringed at the name even more than Gryffindors. Draco, however, was used to it. "True," he said, "but you may know more about the Death Eaters than even most of the people related to them." His eyes narrowed, and abruptly, he hurled Julian's glass into the fire, where it shattered in a burst of blue flame. A few people yelped. 

" _Gorgeous,_ " Harry said.

 

Harry stayed for what he thought was another hour, although he didn't dare have a second drink. Still, he worked at trying to look relaxed while others talked. A few people made disparaging remarks about mixed-bloods or Muggleborns; he took his cue from Draco and responded with no more than a contemptuous look. It was almost a relief to have Pansy tell a family story about an abused ancestress, Katherine Parkinson, who killed all the males of her family with a curse that ripped out their genitals at the root. At least then, he was able to wince with the rest of the boys. 

"How do you have the name Parkinson, then?" Astoria objected. "If it was only her and her sister left alive?"

"She was already with child from one of her brothers," Pansy said, "and as she never married, passed on the name to her son." 

Harry forbore from comments about the sad effects of inbreeding, but it was a near thing.

His restraint seemed to have accomplished something, however. When he said goodnight, several of the Slytherins nodded at him in a possibly friendly manner. 

"You know we'd abduct you for the Dark Lord if we could, right?" Cecilius called over.

Harry coughed. "Some of you," he said. "I'm clear on that."

"Right. Just don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"Which isn't to say you're not fun," Astoria added. "Please do visit again." 

"Oh, speak for yourself!" Pansy snapped. She rolled her eyes. "Although, he was tolerably amusing. Perhaps Draco's taste isn't irredeemable." 

"Yeah, um, thanks," Harry muttered, and fled. In the hallway, he found he was still holding his empty glass. He cast a short-term Unbreakable charm on it and tucked it in his pocket. The dungeon corridor wavered in the flickering light of too few torches, and he found he felt somewhat tipsy, which he hadn't expected. He wondered if Millicent had topped off his drink -- it had lasted longer than he had expected. 

_She shouldn't have been able to_ , he scolded himself. _I should have been watching more closely than that_. On more than one occasion, though, he had kissed Draco and trusted the people around them -- Millicent and Blaise and Linnet and Gilbert -- to keep an eye on their drinks. 

The corridors were empty. It was certainly past time that he should be in Gryffindor, if not his own dormitory. He wondered if most people would be asleep when he got back. He didn't really feel like dealing with any of them tonight. And he certainly didn't want to admit that he'd been off consorting with the enemy at their victory party -- not when it was entirely his fault that Gryffindor had lost. Maybe, he thought, he could just refuse to say where he had been. Most people would probably assume he'd been off sulking on his own. That was _worse_ , though, really -- he looked like enough of a sore loser already, after berating Millicent in public when Slytherin won. He groaned. Well, there was always his first hope -- that everyone would be asleep, and he could just sneak up the stairs and into his bed without being challenged. 

 

It didn't happen. True, _most_ people had left the common room, but Seamus and Parvati and Ron and Sajid were still there, and worse yet, Hermione was there, and she looked up from her book even before Harry climbed through the portrait hole. 

"Hi," he said uncertainly, to none of them in particular. Immediately, Ron came to his feet and turned his back on him. As Ron was heading up the stairs, and Seamus lifting his arms in a helpless shrug, Hermione thumped her book down on a pile of larger books and stalked towards him. 

"Where have you been?" 

"I went to apologize to Millicent." 

"Apologize for what?" Sajid said derisively. 

"For acting like a spoiled child when she won," Harry said. "Look, I'd really like to go to bed...."

Hermione glared at him from a foot away. "You're drunk." 

"I am not!" 

"You smell of it."

"I had one drink. _One_." It was technically true, anyway.

"Where were you?"

"Look," Harry said desperately, "could we go to your room? Please? I've been at the center of enough scenes today." 

After a tense moment, she nodded. "Okay. But you're not getting out of anything." 

As he followed her into her room, Harry found he was fingering his wand and forced himself to stop. This wasn't an emergency. He didn't feel up to being clever, but he hadn't been doing anything that it would be a disaster for her to tell Professor McGonagall about. 

On the other hand, he might be in a lot of trouble, now that he thought about it. Millicent was of age, as he was, but they hadn't exactly been restricting who had access to the bottle after she had finished doling out a round to her friends and classmates. He was sure the boy who had ended up with Pansy's doctored glass wasn't seventeen. Saying that he had been leaving that up to the Slytherins, while true, wouldn't keep him out of trouble with McGonagall, and would likely get him in trouble with Snape. He could just hear the man ranting about his lack of discretion. 

He told himself that all that had been his decision, and he wouldn't take it out on Hermione, just for doing what she should. 

Hermione had settled back against her desk and was regarding him with disapproval. "Now," she said, "answers, Harry. Where were you?" 

"The Slytherin Common Room." 

Her eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You were drinking in the Slytherin Common Room?" 

The spectre of Snape's glower overshadowed her disapproval. "Discreetly," he lied. 

"Why did you go there? Just to apologize to Bulstrode?" 

"Yeah." 

"Because you were sorry, or because you were afraid Draco would be upset at you?" 

"Because I was sorry! Hermione, I acted like an idiot, and I basically said we weren't friends any more, and she was hurt!" 

Hermione nodded. She looked like she was putting something together in a lesson. "So, when you disappear, and Draco doesn't, are you with Millicent?" 

That hit him out of nowhere. For a moment, he just stared at her. 

"Well?" she asked sharply. "Is that it?" 

He took out his wand, covering for the motion by casting a repair spell on the fraying cuff of his robes. He felt like his mind had retreated someplace where time ran more slowly and he was watching himself do this, while plotting out a strategy. The Credulity curse was not the Imperius curse. He still needed something she could believe. If he came up with a good enough argument, he might not even need the curse. 

"Are you asking as Head Girl, or as my friend?" he asked. 

With a sigh, she turned away, looking down at books and papers and old copies of the Daily Prophet. It was too good an opportunity to miss. With a slight roll of his wrist, he whispered, " _Crede_." Confidence flooded through him. He could think more clearly now. 

"Whichever one you'll answer," she said dully.

"Neither, really," he said, deliberately keeping his tone warm. "I mean, it isn't the Head Girl's business who I'm with if I'm not doing anything wrong. And my friends don't get to choose my other friends; we went through that last year."

She made a face, but sounded plaintive rather than suspicious as she asked, "But what if you are doing something wrong?"

"I'm not, Hermione. I swear it." 

"You're not breaking school rules?"

He hesitated, remembering that she mattered to him. "Not any you haven't broken yourself," he answered cautiously. It felt more wrong to lie to her when she couldn't catch him out. 

Her brief smile ended with her sticking her tongue out. "I didn't think she was your type." 

"Hermione! Not like that. I'd be crushed flat!" 

She giggled. "Okay. But it's something I'd do?" she asked, looking puzzled. 

"Don't worry about it," he said, and was both elated and dismayed when the crease cleared from her brow. "I'm helping her in secret, that's all, but it's nothing bad, and I really can't tell you more."

"Well, good!" Hermione said sunnily. She beamed at him. "I'm so glad we've cleared that up. We should talk more often."

"Um, yeah," Harry said. "I, um, better get to bed. I have a lot of work to finish tomorrow."

"Oh, yes, you'd better!" she agreed. "Good night, Harry." 

He consented to a warm embrace and a sisterly kiss on the side of his head, and then fled to his dormitory. No one tried to speak to him while he was getting ready for bed, and he did not offer a good night to the darkened room. 

 


	26. Cursed

 

The next morning, Harry woke with an oppressive pain behind his eyes and a gnawing load of guilt in his stomach. In a matter of hours, he had lost a Quidditch match for Gryffindor due to blind stupidity, pettily threatened Millicent, postured for Slytherin purebloods, and put one of his best friends under a Dark curse. From the headache, he was now sure that he had drank more than he had thought, which gave him the uncomfortable feeling that Hermione might have a point about his lack of sense. Altogether, he wanted to stay in bed, but he knew from experience that _looking_ guilty made everything worse. Gryffindor might forgive him if he carried on normally, but the lions would snap like hyenas if he skulked about trying to avoid them. 

Ron came back from the loo as Harry was fastening his tie. 

"Hi," Harry said. "Are you speaking to me yet?" 

For answer, Ron turned his back. Harry sighed. 

"He might be feeling more charitable if you hadn't disappeared for the evening," Seamus said mildly. 

Harry shrugged. "I went to find Millicent, and.... Well, it wasn't quick." 

"She gave you a drink?"

"I gave her a bottle." 

Ron whirled about. "You shouldn't have given that _troll_ anything but a hard kick!" 

"Ron..." Sighing, Harry rubbed his forehead. "Look, it's not like I _want_ you angry at me, but could you make up your mind? If it was my fault, there's no point in going after her too." 

"I'm not angry at you over the match!" Ron retorted. "It's forgiving her! She cheated you, Harry!" 

"Technically," Harry answered, speaking evenly to not jar his head, "faking out your opponent is not cheating. Seekers do false dives all the time. I have."

"That wasn't a false dive!" 

"No, it was slyer than that, but I should have been on my guard. We were playing Slytherin! But I had started worrying about the wind, and that she's been having balance issues recently -- she says that's real, by the way -- and I lost track of the match." 

"Fine," Ron said. "I won't hold it against her." He jammed his feet into shoes without untying them, twisting an ankle back and forth to squeeze the heel in. "You, on the other hand, might as well go live with the snakes, since you obviously care more about them than about us. And our plans for this afternoon? Go find some other dupe for your boyfriend's grand schemes." 

He stormed off, the thump of his feet uneven from the still unsettled shoe. 

"Ouch," Harry said, rubbing his temples. 

"Have a drop too much, last night?" Seamus prodded.

"Merlin, yes. I didn't notice it, either. Someone had to have been topping off my glass, because I swear I only took one, and I've never felt this awful from less than three." 

"Hm." Seamus sounded a bit more sympathetic at that. "Might a Slytherin have tampered with it? If you were with them...."

Harry started to shake his head, but then gave that up as a bad idea. "I doubt it. Draco and Blaise and Millicent and I were watching each other's drinks, so any additions would have been friendly." 

"Ah." Seamus studied him. "Did you ever have anything else after the match? I mean, water, pumpkin juice...?"

"No, I--" Harry stopped on the verge of saying he'd been too upset. "Oh." 

"Food?" Seamus continued pointedly. "Lunch? Dinner?"

"Um...." 

"Right." Seamus scooped his robes up off the floor and dropped them on still fastened as far as he bothered with on weekends. "And I know you didn't eat _before_ the match, as you never do. Let's get you some breakfast."

"Okay."

"And Harry?" Seamus said, as they started down the stairs. "If you have a moment, what with trying to protect Muggles, Slytherins, firsties, dangerous magical creatures, and damn near everything else, you might take some care for yourself." 

 

In the Great Hall, Seamus shoved Harry into a spot next to Hermione. That was the last place Harry wanted to be, but couldn't very well say so. He needed a moment or two to steel himself to try a sip of pumpkin juice, and twice as long to bring himself to nibble on a bun. By the time he looked up and noticed that Seamus hadn't sat down himself, Seamus was all the way over to the Slytherin table. 

"Oh no," Harry breathed. 

"Harry?" Hermione nudged him and looked pointedly at Seamus, who had hooked a finger through the beads dangling across Draco's tie, and was using the loop to pull him half-way over the table, so their noses were practically touching. Seamus looked fierce, and Draco offended. "What's that about?"

"Er, me, I suppose. I don't know." Harry couldn't think. His eyes momentarily met Draco's over Seamus's shoulder, and then Draco looked away. He caught Seamus by the wrist. For a moment, they stayed like that, and then, with a nod from Draco, mutually released each other. Seamus returned to the Gryffindor table with more of a swagger than Harry thought advisable.

"You know, it wasn't his fault," Harry told him, as he sat down. 

"Not as something he did," Seamus said, reaching for the porridge, "but he should know by now that you need more care." 

"I don't!" 

"Right. I'll believe it when you show it." 

"What happened?" Hermione asked. 

"I, um, didn't eat yesterday. After breakfast, I mean."

"Well, you hardly ate at breakfast!" Hermione said. "Oh." Her eyes widened. "That would be.... Right." 

"Hermione," Harry said desperately, "it was a really odd day, that's all." 

The unrestrained warmth of her smile was unnerving. "Of course," she said sincerely. "I understand." 

 

By the time he had finished two cups of pumpkin juice and one of water, three slices of toast, an egg, some mushrooms, and a rasher of bacon, Harry felt almost normal, except for when he moved his head too quickly. Hermione was another issue. She was friendly, but so ready to agree with anything he said that it made Harry uncomfortable. Fortunately, no one else was paying them much attention. Ron was sitting some distance down the table, ignoring both of them, and Ginny was with him, apparently in a huff. Seamus and Parvati were talking to each other, and glancing over only now and then, perhaps to be sure that Harry was eating. When he was full, Harry excused himself and left the table. He wasn't at all surprised to have Draco catch him in the hallway. 

"So," Draco said. "I am informed that your contribution to the party was the only liquid you had after the match." 

"Almost," Harry admitted. "Look, it's not--" He shrugged. "I just wasn't paying attention." 

Draco lowered his chin in a curt nod. "A matter I understand far better than your Irish friend, I believe. _Do_ use more sense in the future." 

"After the headache I woke up with? Yeah, I plan to."

"Good." Draco cleared his throat. "That's settled, then, and you can let him know that I spoke to you. Are you well enough to brew for this afternoon?"

"Yes, but Ron won't do it."

Draco frowned. "Because of the match?"

"Right. He's angry at me, and altogether furious at Slytherin." Which was inconvenient in more ways than one, Harry thought. Ron would no doubt relent after a week or two, but the brewing would have covered for the curse that he had cast. Draco would know he couldn't meet the Quiris after making that potion. "On the other hand, he can get over things just as abruptly as he gets angry. Maybe I should prepare the potion anyway." 

Draco sighed. "Very well. It's fairly stable until the blood is added. But if we have no time constraints...." He stepped forward, running a hand through Harry's hair and settling it behind his head. "There's no need to start with _work_ , is there?" he murmured.

"God." Harry leaned forward into Draco's lips, letting that soft welcome soothe his anxiety. He wondered when kissing Draco had changed from an exciting danger to something that grounded him with familiar love. The muddled sound from the doors opening was too familiar to distract him, but the stinging hex on his back was something else. He yelped, but twisted, his wand dropping into his hand. 

"Get a room!" Ginny called over. "I'm sure you can find one." 

Fingers closed around his hand. "Come on," Draco said. 

"Our clubhouse?"

"Yes. I want you in bed." 

 

By the time Harry started the potion, they had missed lunch. Draco went out to the kitchens to get food and returned just Harry was dropping the first bugbear claw into the noxious brew. The hard, black hook lay for a moment on top of the thick, heaving potion before a bubble opened with a splat and then closed over it. Harry rolled the next one over in his fingers, feeling the heavy darkness of it. This was a creature that lived in the shadows of forbidden places, waiting for prey. Like a Boggart, it was both more and less than it seemed. Some people said the claws were the only real part of it. He dropped the second claw in and let it sink. The third claw was the largest. Harry wondered that it wasn't sharper. Contemplatively, he ran it up the inside of his arm, leaving a white line on his skin. 

"Harry?" Draco questioned softly. 

Dropping the claw hastily into the potion, Harry took up his wand. As soon as the claw tipped below the surface, he put out the fire below the cauldron. 

"All set," he said, trying to sound brisk. He didn't think it was very convincing. 

"You looked rather...." Draco hesitated. "Enrapt," he tried. 

"It's very dark," Harry admitted. "And strange, even without that, I think." What sort of wounds did a creature that was only claws leave? 

"Let me show you a grounding exercise," Draco said. "Here. First sit down on the floor, tailor-style."

Harry looked down at the floor. It was dirty, but he supposed that didn't matter. "Only if you do," he said, smirking at Draco's fine clothes. He'd never refastened his robes after they got out of bed, and his white shirt was untucked over wide-legged trousers of fine, light grey wool. 

"Here," Draco said again, taking both of Harry's hands and tugging as he folded his legs under him. On the ground, he shifted from having both legs to one side to crossing them in front of him. Harry was disappointed to see that they were barely smudged, but he arranged himself to mirror Draco's pose. 

"Now," Draco said, "take out your wand and cast _Lumos_. Good. Now swoop the wand in loose loops, like an infinity symbol, and let it trail light, until you can see the whole symbol at once."

Slowly, Draco walked him through changing the color of his light at every third cross of the line, and Harry found he could pick up the rhythm, making the change at the right instant, even with larger and smaller loops. Sometime after that, it occurred to him to wonder what the point was. 

"Why am I doing this?" 

"Hm. Because I don't like you looking like you might find an evisceration mildly amusing. Do you think you're done?"

Harry let his wand tip sag. Slowly the light faded out. "Like I.... Oh." He checked out Draco's trouser legs again. They weren't dirty, but that was no longer disappointing. "Right. Thanks." 

"It's a good thing to do, if you can manage to remember that you ought to do it," Draco commented, rising to walk the few steps to the couch. "Come over here and clean your hands, and we'll eat."

"It doesn't dispel the Dark energy," Harry said, as he joined him. It wasn't quite a question, but Draco nodded. 

"It doesn't, but it does settle it down, so it's not quite as dominant an influence. You still couldn't go near a Quiri."

At his first bite of a ham sandwich, Harry realized that he was ravenous. It wasn't until after finishing the sandwich, an apple, and several chocolate biscuits that he felt sated enough to relax. 

"Hungry?" Draco asked blandly.

"Starving. I think yesterday caught up with me."

Draco bit his lip. "It wasn't my idea, you know. I admit I _was_ dreading going up against you for the final time, but I hadn't thought to get out of it. You must see that I couldn't refuse though -- I would have been accused of favoring you over my house." 

"I would rather hope you do." 

"Not on the pitch!" Scowling, Draco thumped back too hard against the inflatable couch, and it bounced him forward again. "There are certain situations in which lesser loyalties have conditional supremacy over greater ones. Explicit competition between houses is one of those." 

"I don't think about things that way." 

"And it garners you hostility among members of your house, because you fail them at moments when they understand that they _should_ have your undivided loyalty. When you are on the pitch, you should be Gryffindor's Seeker and nothing else. Millicent Bulstrode should concern you only as someone who may lob a Bludger at you." 

Uncomfortable with his feelings on the matter, Harry twisted to face Draco, setting his back against the arm of the sofa. "That's sort of true," he said. "It's true if the match is just a match. But if it looks like a real threat has come into it, it's different. For example, you can't use magic in a match, but no one criticized me when I cast a Patronus against what looked like a Dementor--"

"I did!" Draco countered, grinning. "But you're right -- an external threat is different. This wasn't one, though. It was a player appearing to lose control." 

"She's been having balance issues." 

"A player's physical condition is a normal factor of play. It wasn't your concern. There are staff members to deal with that sort of thing."

"But what if they didn't?" Harry burst out. "Yes, I hated losing, and I hated even more not getting to _try_ , and some members of my house are angry at me, but what if she'd fallen and died? Then I'd feel worse." 

"Flitwick was refereeing. He would have caught her. You need to let people do their jobs."

"I don't trust people to do anything!" Harry snapped. 

For a moment, there was silence. 

"Good," Draco said.

"What?"

"I'm glad you at least know that -- about yourself, I mean."

"Well, there's no reason to!" Harry gestured at the room around them. "The _staff_ didn't catch the basilisk or keep Tom from bringing Ginny down here! They didn't get Voldemort out of Quirrell's head, or catch Barty Crouch before he kidnapped me and got Cedric killed! They didn't capture Sirius -- which turned out to be just as well -- or protect me from Dementors, or from _you_ , or from Dean, or from Snape, when he hated me. My Muggle teachers never protected me from Dudley and his friends, and my aunt and uncle never protected me from _anything_. More people here like me than like Millicent; why should I trust anyone to save her?" He came breathless to the end of his protest, his face hot, at once embarrassed and defiant. Draco looked steadily into his eyes. 

"Because it was public," he said. 

That wasn't what Harry was expecting. Prepared to fight soothing words, he instead stayed silent, letting Draco continue. 

"It wasn't a dark corridor," he said steadily. "It wasn't hidden under other interactions, and it wasn't an unassigned task. She was one of fourteen people _specifically_ being watched for trouble by two people, all in front of an audience. Someone would have caught her. Flitwick had his wand out, I'm told."

Harry sighed. "I can't think that way." 

"You need to learn. You need to be able to delegate. You need to rely on your friends where and when you can, and even on the staff, _where and when you can_. It's good that you know that isn't everywhere or always, but you need to understand when it _is_." 

"I don't need to delegate. _Leaders_ need to delegate."

"Like it or not, my love," Draco said softly, "you need to be a leader, at least for a little while. You won't survive against the D-- Voldemort if you leave it to Professor Dumbledore, or the Minister, or the Aurors. _That_ is where you need to rely on yourself -- not to stand alone, but to lead."

It was too much -- too much to absorb, too much to argue with. "I don't know how," Harry complained, and Draco sniffed in amusement. 

"Don't worry, love; you have the knack, except for this little point." Shifting to face forward again, he began putting the debris from lunch back into the basket from the kitchens. "Speaking of Millicent, she seems amenable to following you in many spheres. I do hope you realize that she wouldn't be a suitable wife." 

Harry, who had been taking a sip of currant juice, choked. Draco blinked at him while he coughed and dabbed at the purple spots on his t-shirt. 

"Oh, honestly! Here." Draco's wand was out, and a quick spell cleaned the splotches from the fabric, leaving it clean and dry. "I have it all wrong, I gather?" 

"Yes!" 

"Well, she _is_ the only woman that you seem to have a private understanding with, and I can't rely on you to evaluate social considerations on your own." 

"Or with your help," Harry returned with a scowl. "I'll marry for love and nothing less." 

"Yes, of course," Draco soothed, "but that's no reason to permit love to blossom where the result would be unsuitable." 

"Then why are you with me?" Harry demanded. 

He hadn't meant it to come out. His heart clenched as Draco bit his lower lip and turned away. 

"Stealing freedom," Draco murmured. "Even I can't be perfect." 

 

When Harry got back to Gryffindor, he had to tell Seamus that yes, he had eaten, and Hermione that no, he hadn't been drinking. Telling Ron anything would have been a waste of time, as Ron stayed around only long enough to loudly detail -- presumably for Hermione's benefit, although he was addressing Dean -- how much work he had done that afternoon, and when Harry turned to him, he left the room. 

Hermione looked questioningly at Harry. 

"Losing the game," Harry answered. "He's just-- he's upset at me." 

She nodded. "And at me for not being upset at you. It's a pity it was his only time against Slytherin. That makes it harder for him, I expect." 

Harry had managed not to think of that. Perhaps the curse was losing its hold on her? The book had said it had to be dispelled, but if it faded off naturally, that would be much better. She might not ever realize what had happened. 

"True," he said. "But he'll get over it."

"He always does," she agreed readily. Sighing, he sat down next to her. She seemed awfully certain, but that wasn't necessarily the curse. After all, Ron always _did_ get over their fights, eventually. He took his Potions and Curse-Breaking texts out his bag. 

"No Transfiguration?"

"I think I'm set with that," he lied.

"Oh, how wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I'm finding it exhausting, myself. Your independent project must really be helping you." 

"Er, I just meant for this Monday," he tried. 

"Oh." Her frown lasted only an instant. "Well, that's still good, but if you're up-to-date with everything else, you should read ahead."

"I have some work to do in Charms," he told her.

It wasn't _too_ strange to have her not argue. If he didn't tell her anything, maybe he could pretend everything was normal. 

 

By Monday morning, Harry was avoiding Hermione as much as possible. He couldn't think what to do. If he lifted the curse from her, he would not only be back to her asking questions he couldn't answer, but she might realize that she hadn't been thinking normally for the previous two days. On the other hand, every conversation he had with her felt like leading a blind man into a minefield. She believed far more than he had expected from the description of the curse, and he hated it. 

He really needed advice, but there was no one he could talk to about the situation. Snape wouldn't understand why he wasn't pleased, Harry was sure, and Draco wouldn't understand why he had felt so desperate as to use Dark Arts on Hermione. After all, he could hardly say that it was to keep some unspecified secret of Millicent's. During the day, this thought continued to come back to him. He imagined awkward conversations in which he acknowledged a "private understanding" with Millicent, while being willing to say only what it was not. 

He managed to evade Hermione during the afternoon and through dinner, but he wasn't sure what he would do after that. He didn't have anywhere to go other than Gryffindor. He and Draco had agreed to not meet that evening, as they had spent most of Sunday together, and he really needed to finish his Charms work. Maybe she would be too busy studying to notice when he came in. 

"Harry," she called, as he stepped through the portrait hole. "There's room here!" 

To his dismay, she had saved him a prime seat by the fire. He walked over, but didn't sit down. Ron wasn't around. He hoped Ron wasn't still angry at her on his account. "Er, thanks, but--" He thought frantically. "I need to write a letter. To, um, Remus, you know." 

"Remus?" She looked puzzled. "Couldn't you write that here?"

"Remus _and_ ," he said, hoping the curse wouldn't keep her from getting the hint. "About, well, private things." 

She nodded. He thought she might even have understood. "Okay."

"Shall I have him tell Snuffles you say hi?" he tried. From the way her eyes widened, he could tell she had just understood his meaning. 

"Oh, please do," she answered, her cheeks dimpling with her smile. "I'd love to see him again -- Remus too, of course."

"Of course," he said with a nod, and went upstairs. 

Ron had apparently been hiding in the dormitory. With a glare at Harry, he grabbed two books and stomped out. 

Harry tried to finish his Charms essay. He really needed to. But having made Hermione believe that he was writing to Remus and Sirius, he felt a strange obligation to make it true. After several non-productive minutes of staring at the same page, he pushed away his schoolbooks and got out a fresh piece of parchment. 

_Dear Remus,_

_Lessons are going well. I earned top marks on my last Transfigura_

  


He stopped in mid-word and stuck his tongue out at the parchment. _Dear Sir, I am being a perfect little prissy boy, so no worries -- you can safely ignore me until you are congratulating me on my NEWTs._

Carefully, he folded back the top of the parchment, creased it hard, tore it off, and started again. 

  


_Dear Remus,_

_School is difficult. Not my classes -- academically, I expect this will be my best year, because marks are important to Draco, and I end up studying with him -- but outside of that. Gryffindor lost their Quidditch match against Slytherin, and it was mostly my fault, so a lot of people are upset with me, especially Ron, who's new to the team. And Hermione, after six years of managing not to, seems to have finally fallen into believing my press. She's acting like I'm as much of a mess as Nott said at the trial, so anytime she doesn't know where I've been, she gets hysterical about it. On the other hand, I've made a lot of new friends, in all houses. I've also found I don't mind firsties anymore. Maybe I'm enough older? It's kind of fun to help them, sometimes. They have little problems, mostly -- except for family stuff, which I can't do anything about. It's nice to be able to fix something. _

_Draco and I managed to get Professor Dumbledore to add a mixed-house social space near the library. It's open for very limited hours, and not many of the kids go, but it's a big improvement for people who have siblings or lovers in other houses. There are two younger kids -- brothers -- who taught me to play parcheesi. Their mom is a Muggle, and they didn't know about wizards -- even though their dad is one -- until the older one did accidental magic. It's the first time I've talked to someone else who was Muggle-raised, but not Muggle-born. Most people think of them as the same._

_I've been mostly keeping out of trouble -- as much as you'd believe, anyway. I'm really busy. Draco and I picked up an independent study with Professor McGonagall. I think she's actually starting to like him! He's really talented at shaping, and I'm learning to work in other changes while he's forming something._

_How are you? Is your dog staying inside more in this cold? Has he won over any new friends travelling with you? Hermione sends her greetings to both of you, by the way. (She's not here, but I told her I was going upstairs to write you a letter.) I hope you're having a good time._

_Regards_

Harry stared at the businesslike word and vanished the ink from the paper. He replaced it with "Love" and then with "Best Wishes", and then with "love" again, but written small and sloppily, as if he always wrote such things at the bottom of letters and it had just tumbled out of his quill. 

Once the letter was addressed and set aside for sending, it was much easier to finish his Charms assignment. 

 

When Harry woke up the next morning, the swirling thoughts in his mind had settled into a path. He needed to ask Millicent for permission to tell Draco about her project, so he could explain what he had done to Hermione without looking like a paranoid loon. Having decided this, he was tempted to try to talk to her as soon as he could -- before lunch, or even before Potions -- but firmly told himself to hold off. He would be meeting her to renew her glamours after he got out of Symbology, and he had the slot after that free. If he walked down to Hagrid's with her, they would be able to talk without fear of anyone overhearing. 

That was not, of course, subtle. 

"What's up?" she asked, as soon as they were clear of the building. She made a face. "Is it about the match?" 

He shook his head. "No, though I am still annoyed about that, to be honest. It's-- Remember how we'd talked about telling Draco, in September?"

With a long, rattling breath, she sighed. "I know I said-- I'm sorry about delaying. It's hard to decide." 

"I get that," he said. "The thing is, I think I _need_ to, now. Things are getting out of hand."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? Is it Pansy?"

"Pansy?"

Millicent huffed. "That trick in the match -- that was _her_ idea. Since it worked, she's been trying to use it to convince Draco that we must be lovers, but I thought he was smarter than that."

"What! Why on earth would anyone think that meant we were _lovers_?"

"Because you bothered. As she sees it, you'd have to be in love with me to risk the match." Millicent snorted. "Draco knows you better than that, I'm sure." 

Remembering talking to Remus and Sirius about Draco, Harry nodded. "My-- Professor Lupin, who was a Gryffindor, thought Draco jumping out the window after me was a clear sign he was in love; he said a Slytherin would have to be. Even so, that was helping me fight Lestrange -- not just getting distracted during a match." 

Millicent shrugged. "Lupin is wrong too, you know. It doesn't need to be love, even for us. Pansy's world is all _little_ things. I don't think she's ever had to think about anything more important than House points or meeting potential husbands." She stooped to pick up a stick and began tapping the side of her thigh with it as she walked, as if she were riding a distracted horse. "I'm not saying Draco doesn't love you -- he does, of course, but Slytherins can value a move that benefits their side, even at personal risk. If we were really all about every man for himself, You-Know-Who wouldn't have half the followers he does."

Harry considered that, and slowly nodded. 

"Yeah. If it was all about him, I think Draco would stay with me." 

Startled, she looked at him again. "What makes you think he won't?"

"He's going to marry. Because it's his duty to his family, he says." 

"But why would--" Her breath came out in a harsh puff. "And you won't stay through that, of course," she surmised. 

"Do you think that's unreasonable?"

Shrugging, she stopped and leaned back against a rock. They were getting too close to Hagrid's hut to continue walking. "No," she said, "but I expect he does. He was raised to think of marriage the way you and I think of a job." A smile twisted across her face. "I'm supposed to too, but my family isn't really that upper class. They want to pretend, but they're not that good at it."

"My Muggle family was kind of like that," Harry admitted. "Trying to look higher class than they were, I mean. It meant that they were terrified of messing it up and got obsessed with stupid stuff."

Millicent nodded. "It's easier to _get_ the stupid stuff. It's in _magazines_ , and people like Pansy are happy to tell you when you have it wrong." 

Hagrid had come into sight, though he was at a distance on the far side of his hut. Harry realized that the conversation had gone off track. "Anyway," he said, "I'm having trouble with Hermione, over disappearing when Draco's around, and I need to be able to tell him why I do it, so he can give me advice about handling her, or maybe an alibi, now and then. And he could probably help with getting potions components."

She scowled down at the ground, absently cracking her knuckles. 

"Mill?" Harry asked. "Please?" 

She looked up. "All right," she said, not as all as if it was. "I suppose he has no reason to tell, as long as Professor Snape won't find out he was in on it. Promise to cover for him there, and you can tell him."

Harry nodded. "Agreed. Though he might not care about that either. Snape is his godf-- spellfather, and their relationship is a bit odd, really." 

"His choice, though," she said doggedly. Hagrid had spotted them and was heading over. 

"His," Harry said. "I promise."

"And I know that's good," she said, and held out her hand. They shook on it, turning away from each other just as Hagrid lumbered back into view. 

"Goo' afternoon, Harry," Hagrid said. "Yeh come down to help wi' the Thorny Hedge?" 

"Er -- just taking a bit of a walk while there's still sun," Harry said. "What thorny hedge?"

"It's a type of hedge plant," Mill explained. "Once you have it established, it grows back faster than most people can chop it."

"Tha's right!" Hagrid said, beaming. "Did your readin', I see. Tell Harry how yeh get through it." 

Millicent practically glowed with pride. "There are two ways," she said. "The easiest is a Withering hex, but you can also use an enchanted ax or machete. In the past, witches and wizards have sometimes given those to Muggles when they couldn't attack the Thorny Hedge themselves."

"Like Sleeping Beauty!" Harry said.

"What?"

"It's a Muggle fairy tale. There's a beautiful princess who is cursed to unending sleep, and to get to her and break the spell, the prince has to cut through brambles that grow back as he chops them. I think he has a magic sword in some versions." Harry shrugged. "In others, he's just more persistent and faster than the ones who couldn't make it through." 

Hagrid nodded. "Tha' wou' be Thorny Hedge. Amazin' really, wha' Muggles remember."

 

Harry stayed long enough to watch Millicent train some Thorny Hedge three yards deep around the entrance to one of the Magical Creatures pens, and then use a controlled Withering hex to make an S-shaped path to the gate. He wondered if this was just practice, or if Hagrid needed the barrier for his next acquisition, but didn't want to interrupt to ask. Millicent was working with the focused concentration that she had when brewing her own potions, and he had never seen her magic work so well. When she paused to rest before extending it further along the fence, he gave them both a wave of goodbye and left. 

It would have been easy to talk to Draco after their Transfiguration tutorial, but now that he had permission, he thought his sense of urgency may have been exaggerated by feeling like he didn't have any options. Unlike the day before, Hermione had been easy to avoid. On that evening, she studied by herself in a corner, Ron argued with Ginny by the chess table, and Harry sat with Seamus and Parvati. None of them claimed the sofa by the fire that they used to share. 

On Wednesday, Hermione stayed near him on the walk down to breakfast, despite Harry not saying more than a curt "Good morning," to her. Nervous about sitting with her, Harry squeezed in to a small space between Cornelia and Ginny at the Gryffindor table. 

"Are we okay?" he asked them, as Hermione clattered on to a free spot further down. 

Cornelia shrugged. "Pretty much." 

"Although I do think you're an idiot," Ginny added, nodding. "And I _will_ remind you of that if I think you're not staying on track again." 

"Fair enough," Harry agreed. 

"Look," Cornelia began. "I can't help noticing--"

But then, the post owls arrived. Cornelia sat back, probably to wait out the chaos and resume, but a long-eared owl among the crowd swooped down to Harry.

"Who's it from?" Ginny asked. 

Harry grinned at the precise handwriting on the envelope. "Remus," he said happily, thinking just as much of Sirius.

Ginny frowned. "Who?" 

"Remember Professor Lupin?"

"The werewolf?" Cornelia asked. "He writes to you?" 

"He was a good friend of my parents," Harry explained. "He says he would have tried to adopt me, if he hadn't been a werewolf. As it was, he stayed away, thinking I'd be better off."

Ginny sniffed. "Prat." 

"Yeah." Harry pushed back the wistful feeling of how much better it would have been to have someone around who was willing to tell him that his parents had loved him and taken good care of him, even if he couldn't have done anything substantial. "Anyway, he knows better now." 

Cornelia nudged him. "Are you going to read it?"

Harry bit his lip. "Maybe not here," he said. "It could be about, you know, personal stuff." 

 

The first lesson of Wednesday morning was double Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry got to the classroom early and sat in a back corner, so he could read his letter without anyone else seeing it. 

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm glad to hear you are applying yourself to your lessons. It will be worth it for more than marks, believe me._

_If Hermione is anxious when she doesn't know where you were, should you perhaps tell her more about where you've been? I expect that you consider it none of her business, but when I think back on Sirius, who perhaps may not have been your parents' Secret Keeper after all, I wonder if we kept too much from each other for inconsequential reasons. I did some odd jobs, at the time, and did not want to tell him about them, because he was adamant that I shouldn't work for less than an average wage, but I was trying to save money for a present for him. And he disappeared on a regular basis and gave very vague -- and at least once, verifiably untrue -- answers as to where he had been, so after he was arrested, I had spaces to fill with 'reporting to the enemy'._

_I'm glad you're making new friends, but take care not to neglect the old. You know my opinion of Quidditch -- when taken too seriously, it can turn reasonable people into idiots. Ron is too good a young man to stay angry over some error in play for long. However, you should let him know, now and then, that you still value him, or he might wrongly assume that he has burned his bridges._

_First years? That is a change! And yes, a sign that you are growing up, and can now look fondly upon 'children' from the safety of the lofty age of seventeen. I do worry, somewhat, that you make this distinction between 'Muggle-raised' and 'Muggle-born'. Might you be spending too much time with students who value blood above experience?_

_My dog loves a wild run, but he does stay safe inside more often these days. His true friends know when we take our rambles. He would be delighted to see you and Hermione, I am sure -- as would I. Tell her that I am very proud of her and am certain she will continue to excel at her studies._

_Much love,_

_Remus_

Beside the signature was a paw print. Even after what Remus had said about blood prejudice, seeing the paw print made Harry feel warm inside. 

People had started to file into the classroom. Ron looked at Harry, huffed, and settled on the other side of the room. Draco came in later, looked around the room, and came straight over to Harry. 

"Move up," he said, "I don't want to sit this far back." 

"Okay." Harry tucked the letter into his bag and went willingly up to the second row. "I'd just wanted some privacy to read." 

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Twins?" he asked casually, but his brow was furrowed. 

"Nah. Remus." 

"Oh." Relaxing, Draco began to take things out of his schoolbag. "All is well, I hope?"

"More or less." Harry was trying not to think too much about Remus's view that blood prejudice was the only reason to make a distinction between himself and a Muggleborn student. Clearly, he didn't understand at all. Harry would have to explain why it mattered, but he couldn't think about it now, because it would put him on edge, which was never good when throwing hexes around. 

"What's wrong?"

Harry sighed. "He thinks you're a bad influence on me. I don't want to go into it now, okay?"

"Understood," Draco said, but his lips pursed. Harry looked away and back to the door. 

Hermione was coming in. Her eyes were clear, but her nose pink, as if she had just blown it. She looked accusingly at Harry and went and sat by the wall. 

"I'm tempted to hex Weasley," Draco whispered savagely.

"Why?"

"She's been crying! Look how her eyes are blue underneath -- she's overusing spells to keep them from being puffy. Will she talk to you at all?"

With dismay, Harry realized that he was probably hurting Hermione as much as Ron was. "I don't know; I haven't thought of it." He tried giving her a smile, and saw her eyes water. "Damn. It's probably me as much as him. I'll talk to her at lunch." 

From Draco's smug little nod, Harry thought he had known perfectly well that Harry had been avoiding Hermione too.

 


	27. Meaning and Intent

 

Hermione ducked out of the classroom while Harry was still working on a tricky shield combination, and as usual, she finished her potion before Harry, so he wasn't able to catch her on the way to lunch. She wasn't in the Great Hall when he got there, either. When he arrived at Transfiguration, she was seated alone, so he gave Draco an affectionate nudge and went to sit with her. She looked up, startled, as he slipped into the seat beside her. 

"Harry?" 

"Hi," he said. "I didn't want you sitting by yourself again. Is Ron still upset at you?"

With a wobbly smile, she nodded. "He hasn't spoken to me since I said it was okay that you went to Slytherin." 

"Yeah, well...." Harry shrugged. "He's not speaking to me, either." 

"I thought you were avoiding me too." 

"I've just been a little preoccupied, that's all."

"Oh." She blushed. "Maybe I should have been clearer. I didn't want to push." 

"And it might be just as well," Harry said quickly. "You know how I can get when I'm in a sulk. Look," he added, as her face started to fall, "let's study together after lessons." That, he hoped, would keep any conversation to safe subjects. 

"I'd love that," she said. "The mixed house space, I expect?" 

He hadn't really been planning on that, but maybe it would be a good idea. Ron wouldn't be there ignoring them, at least. "Great." 

 

Hermione, however, seemed to want to make the session as social as possible. She engaged him in a discussion of glamours, and to his complete horror, seemed willing to replace her concept of how imitative construction worked with his, which he was sure wasn't as accurate. He had to quickly backtrack, emphasizing that he wasn't at all sure he understood it and thought she might have it right. While she pored back over her notes in undeserved confusion, he steadied his breath and wondered if he could possibly have miscast the spell. Maybe it was Snape he should talk to, not Draco. The way that Hermione was behaving went well beyond the description of the curse in Snape's book. According to that, he would need to be persuasive, even with the spell in place, and what she would believe was limited. In practice, he thought he could probably tell her the sky was green and she would conclude that she had a previously unnoticed problem distinguishing among colors.

"May I join you?" Draco asked, appearing by their table. Harry twitched, having missed his approach. He tried to not let his panic show. "If you like," he said. "We're working on Charms." 

"Do you know about imitative construction in glamours?" Hermione asked him eagerly. "I had the idea that one should start first with a subtle element, but Harry says you should start with the basic changes."

Before answering, Draco glanced curiously at Harry, who shrugged. 

"As I understand it, starting with a subtle element makes the glamour more stable," Draco said. "It's a technique primarily used in decorating. Starting with basic changes is easier, though, so more people can do it reliably." 

"Could that be it, Harry?" Hermione asked. 

"Well, um, yeah." Harry heard his voice come out tight with anxiety and forced a more casual tone. "I mean, that makes sense, right? So we're both right." 

"Oh, good!" 

Draco's eyebrows rose, but he made no comment on the interaction as he sat down. 

 

Although Draco conversed naturally with Hermione, he studied her while she was looking at her book, and Harry imagined he could feel those eyes on him, as well, whenever he turned away. He pulled the white notebook out of his bag and opened it to the first blank page. 

_We need to talk._

_About your friend? I agree._

_Can you meet me in our place after lights out?_

Draco lifted his head, giving Harry a long, lustful look. With a smirk, he wrote his reply. _Yes, of course. I just need to be back before dawn._

 

Late that night, Harry got to the Chamber of Secrets and found it empty. That wasn't unexpected -- Draco often had to stay up later than Harry to duck out unseen -- but it was unwelcome. After pacing the length of the cavern several times, he finally settled down on the furry sofa, choosing the green end for a change. While waiting there, he wrote a reply to Remus. It took him half a dozen tries, but he thought the final version was clear. 

 

_Dear Remus,_

_Being Muggle-raised is different than being Muggle-born, in at least two ways. Blood prejudice is the obvious one. I don't think I'm better than Hermione, of course, but a lot of people who don't know either of us do, and I know I'll never have to deal with the level of prejudice that she does. That's the 'good' part. _

_The bad part is that people from magical families, whether prejudiced or not, know that I'm wizard-born and expect me to know things that wizard- raised kids know -- and most of the time I don't. So when I don't, people who don't know much about me sometimes think I'm stupid, or lazy, or rude. If I was Muggle-born, they'd be more likely to realize that I just wasn't taught these things. It was when I was first becoming friends with Draco that I finally realized this. Now, I remind people that I'm Muggle-raised when I don't know things, and that helps. I told the kids who taught me Parcheesi that it was probably better to make sure people knew that they had been raised as Muggles, even if that meant they got hassled about their mum more. Draco has also taught me a lot. He gave me a family book, last Christmas, after he realized that I didn't know what one was. Some of it's silly, but at least I know it's there, even if I'll always be rubbish at writing with a quill. _

_I think you ought to meet Draco again. I know he was really obnoxious the year you were here, but he's grown up a lot. Also, I don't really know how to say this, but I am really offended that you thought this was blood prejudice on my part, or trying to make myself look more important to the purebloods, or something. I am trying to talk to them, but there's no point in that if it involves changing what I believe in. _

 

Sitting back, Harry wondered if that was true. He had not compromised on _that_ issue, perhaps, but he had basically been bragging about Dark Arts for the Slytherins. And had he really needed to learn this troublesome curse from Snape, or was he just trying to reinforce their new accord? 

His thoughts continued to circle around that idea. He could easily picture Snape both sneering and nodding approvingly, and it was a little frightening to feel that he valued the man's approval. He certainly shouldn't, considering how he bestowed it on the Slytherins for minor achievements, or even malicious ones, but for him, it had been a prize, and it still gave him a flush of pride to recall Snape standing in that casual way, addressing him as a co-conspirator. The reflections were uncomfortable, and it was a relief when he finally heard footsteps in the corridor and could tuck the letter into his bag. With a soft hiss of Parseltongue, Harry ordered the door to close once Draco entered the room.

Supremely unaffected by the clang behind him, Draco continued forward to Harry. "What happened to her?" he asked tensely. "Do you know?" 

"I--" Harry wished he had spent some of his time rehearsing what to say. "I put her under a Credulity curse, but--" 

"You! _You_ cursed her?" 

"It wasn't supposed to work like this!" Harry protested. "And she was asking about Millicent, and I couldn't--" Harry stopped, swallowing. Draco's eyes were still wide with astonishment, but his mouth settling into a scowl. "I've got this backwards. I should tell you about Millicent first." 

"Please do," Draco said icily, his eyes narrowing. "I don't for a moment believe Pansy's theory -- the girl is hardly your type -- but there is clearly _something_ afoot, if you would attack a dear friend for her."

"I didn't attack her!" 

"It is a _curse_ , Harry. That is an attack." 

"She won't be reasonable!" 

"So you want to lie to her with impunity." 

"I haven't lied!" 

That startled them both to silence for a moment. Harry thought back, and realized it was true.

"Haven't lied?" Draco prodded incredulously. "You have cursed her to believe you, and then told her the truth? That's likely!"

"I did." Harry felt his shoulders drop. "I did. It didn't seem fair."

"Then what do you gain?"

"That she _believes_ me." 

"Dee's balls," Draco muttered. "What a mess!" 

"Yeah." Harry said.

"So." Draco straightened, raising his chin. "You implied this had something to do with Bulstrode."

"Right. She said I could tell you, but you have to keep it to yourself." Harry took a quick breath. "I'm helping her with a sex change." 

"Se--" Draco let his breath out with a hiss. "Harry!"

"She wants to be a man," Harry explained quickly, "and she has to do a slow change, so her family can't just reverse it. I'm helping her with potions and glamours, so we're brewing every two weeks, and we have to meet every day for the glamours, because I can't make them last much longer, though maybe what Hermione said today will help. That's why I made up with her when I did; if I'd left it until morning, the glamour would have worn off, and she'd be caught, and that would ruin the whole thing." 

"And this matters to you," Draco sneered.

"Of course it matters! We're talking about _the rest of her life_ , Draco! I love Quidditch, and I like winning, and, honestly, I'm still angry with her, some, but I decided last June that _people_ are more important than _games_ , and it would have been childish of me to claim such a huge penalty of her."

With a huff and a scowl, Draco thumped back into the sofa, but Harry could tell from the set of his eyes that he was thinking hard. 

"How did you get involved with this? Did she ask for your help?" 

"No. This is how we started talking this summer. We ran into each other -- literally -- in the bookshop, when I was invisible, and I was helping her pick up her books, and saw _Permanent Sex Change with Potions_. I had a horrible time getting her to believe I wouldn't blackmail her, and finally I told her that if she would protect you in Slytherin, I would keep my mouth shut and help her get potions components. Then, at school, she started trusting me more, and I just fell into helping with the rest of it."

Cocking his head to the side, Draco studied Harry for a moment. "I will assume there is no explicit bargain for that. Is there something you hope for?"

Harry bit back a denial and forced himself to think about the question. "I suppose that I'm hoping for an ally. Not in games, of course, but in real life." 

Draco nodded. "You have that, I believe. I'm not sure she'd take a curse for you, but she'd certainly be willing to throw them. She defends you in Slytherin to the very limit of sense." He sighed. "That is part of why she reacted badly to you saying you had helped her in front of the team."

"That, and she was probably afraid I'd say how," Harry added. "All of you underestimate my discretion, I think." 

"Perhaps," Draco allowed. "But any debt to you undercuts her legitimacy in the house, regardless. So. You told Hermione this?"

"No. I told her that I was helping someone, and I wasn't doing anything wrong, and I wasn't breaking any school rules that she hadn't broken herself." 

"Ah." Draco stood, and turned away, looking at the dark water. Harry twisted towards him. 

"Look, about Hermione--"

"You _cursed_ her."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" 

Draco whirled, the front of his robes flapping up. "Oh?" he demanded sarcastically. 

"The Credulity curse is just supposed to be an edge. It shouldn't matter if I don't try to be persuasive. Certainly she shouldn't be thinking I know more about Charms than she does!"

Glaring, Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "You didn't research this at all, did you?"

"I did! I read about it, and I discussed--"

"Go on." At Harry's silence, Draco's glare turned to a contemptuous sneer. "Shall I finish for you? You discussed this with my spellfather, who is, of course, _entirely_ sensitive to your feelings and priorities."

Harry looked guiltily away. "The book--"

"Did you read more than one?" 

"No." 

"Then you _didn't_ research it. Any source has a bias." Draco began to pace. "There are two factors that may cause the Credulity spell to exert a more extensive effect. Have you any guesses?"

"Um, power of the caster?" Harry felt himself heat with embarrassment, but it would be foolish to deny that he was powerful.

With a smirk, Draco nodded. "That's the first one. You cast impressively in Defense, and I would not be at all surprised if your connection to Voldemort supplements your power in Dark Arts. However, there's another, more insidious factor involved here. Do you know the primary uses of the Credulity curse?"

Harry was too disturbed at the thought of channeling Voldemort's power to speculate. Numbly, he shook his head. 

"Bribery, embezzlement, and concealing affairs from a jealous partner," Draco said succinctly. "Of these, my father advised me that it is of greatest effectiveness in bribery, because the subject _wishes to believe you_. If they accept your insubstantial excuses as to the value of what you want done, it absolves them of guilt." 

He stopped, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting. Reluctantly, Harry considered this. "You think she wants to believe me?"

"Very much so, apparently." 

"But she won't believe anything! She's been after me all term!"

"In that case, either you have presented your arguments badly, or she has been fighting it extremely hard." 

With his toe, Harry pushed at the far arm of the sofa until his foot snapped past the plastic roll and up. "Both, maybe. She did seem really happy, right afterwards, when she could just say 'Oh, that's all right, then.'" 

Draco took a deep breath. "You had no right to do this to her." 

"I know." Harry curled his legs in protectively. "I've been feeling guilty about it ever since, and I want to lift it, but I don't know what's likely to happen, or how to handle it, and I wanted advice on keeping her from telling."

"You _will_ lift it." 

"Yes." 

"Whether you can keep her from telling or not."

At Draco's icy tone, Harry lowered his head meekly. "Yes," he promised. _I don't need another Dark wizard in my life_ , he remembered, and half-expected Draco to say it again.

"All right." Draco's anger fell away, leaving him looking lost. He came tentatively back to the sofa. "You shouldn't hide things from me," he said plaintively.

"I don't unless there's someone else involved."

"Even if." He sighed. "You obviously can't take care of yourself in anything subtle, and if someone matters to you, you ought to trust me to take that into account." Sneering, he took a seat. "Has _dear_ Severus taught you anything else?"

"A spell to repel Quiris." At Draco's scowl, Harry shrugged. "It seemed a reasonable precaution, when I was learning the other. That's it." 

"And what other secrets do you have? Talk. You _do_ have something to do with Blaise's gargoyle dust, don't you?"

Biting his lip, Harry thought back. He didn't think Draco would disrupt that alliance based on what had never been full disapproval. "I bought it for him. He paid me back, but I--" 

"In return for what?" 

"An unspecified future favor."

"Still owed?"

"No. I had him buy the wine for us." 

Draco snorted. "Rather a minor favor for that."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, but I wanted to obscure my own purchases. So I bought his stuff, and Millicent's, and mine."

"Your purchases?" 

"For the divination." 

Draco sat back. "Only you, you know, could do such a set of reprehensible things with perfectly good intent." 

"The only awful one was the curse!" 

"The _worst_ one was the curse, but you're supplying Blaise with an unethical and dangerous substance, and I rather think you like him." 

"I didn't like him yet, I told him I wouldn't get more, and it's not that dangerous if he's careful." 

"True, but that presumes he will be careful, which hardly seems likely." 

"Look, will you help or not?"

Draco pretended to consider the matter. 

"Yes," he said finally. "I'll go with you when you lift the spell, and try to calm her down if she flies into an _entirely justifiable_ fury. It's likely that she won't notice immediately, however. If you work on being reasonable, and arrange with me to provide an alibi occasionally, she might never realize that she was cursed before." 

"Thank you." 

For a minute, they just looked at each other uneasily, and then Harry, unable to endure wondering where he stood any longer, leaned forward, pulling Draco into a kiss. After a moment of passive surrender, Draco returned it fiercely, his teeth pressing behind his lips. Harry whimpered, and Draco turned aside to nip at his neck. 

"Oh, god, yes," Harry sighed, leaning his head back to let him at it. Every mark Draco left was a tacit forgiveness. If he still wanted Harry enough to claim him this way, then surely they would be all right. He squirmed back, pulling Draco down on top of him. To his relief and excitement, Draco began immediately to rut against him. 

"Anything you want," Harry promised breathlessly. _Fuck me_ , he wanted to say, but he didn't dare. His standing with Draco felt too precarious for anything he wasn't certain Draco wanted. They had yet to go beyond oral sex, and while Harry had occasionally dragged a finger along the cleft of Draco's arse while sucking him, Draco had never returned the touch, much less taken it further. Harry tried squirming onto his stomach, to see if Draco would take a hint if Harry presented his arse for frotting, but Draco pulled back instead. 

"Not enough room here," he said. "Let's go to the bed." 

Frustration coiling in his mind, Harry followed him across the stone floor and past the filigree stone screen that set off the bed from their lounge area. When they reached it, Draco hesitated, so Harry hoisted himself onto the mattress and worked his way back, tugging on Draco's hand. 

"Come on." 

Slowly, Draco brought a knee up beside Harry's leg. "You're eager, today."

" _Need_ you," Harry insisted. "Please?"

"Hm." With a sudden smirk, Draco pulled off his robes and dropped his trousers, and then crawled over him, stopping up on his knees, straddling Harry's chest. "Let's see if you can handle this," he said, pressing his cock down, until the head was low enough that Harry thought he could catch it in his mouth. He curled up and managed to envelope the tip. Draco made no move to help, so Harry reached around to grip the back of Draco's thighs to help hold himself in position. He thought Draco might be punishing him by making it awkward, and was determined to show his contrition. 

"Oh, you _are_ good," Draco said softly. At the praise, Harry tried to stretch a little further, but he couldn't get much more than the head into his mouth, even though Draco continued to hold that down. It wasn't entirely one-sided -- with his free hand, Draco had reached back and was rubbing Harry's erection through his clothing -- but it was painfully awkward. Draco kept him straining there for at least another minute before tilting forward on his hands. Relieved, Harry dropped back and took him deeper. It still wasn't the best angle -- the end bumped bluntly into the roof of his mouth, and it was difficult to keep his teeth out of the way -- but at least it was easier on his neck. 

At a motion from Draco, he let out a squeak of surprise. He turned to follow as Draco moved to the side, but lost the slippery length of Draco's cock. 

"A moment's hold," Draco requested, a bit sharply. The words were unfamiliar, requiring far too much thought, and by the time Harry had translated them to _wait a minute_ , Draco had turned to straddle Harry's head, facing his feet, and was casting a disrobing charm on him. He dropped down to his hands as Harry's trousers shot away, falling to the floor with a light _thwap_ , and Harry found himself staring up at Draco's bollocks. Tentatively, he nuzzled the soft skin. It wasn't as if he hadn't done that before, but the angle changed things, drawing the hanging pouch down toward his mouth. Behind that, he could see the compressed lines of Draco's anus. 

At a warm lick down his cock, he froze. 

"I'll move back a little for you, shall I?" Draco murmured, inching up so that his bollocks were nearly out of reach, but his cock looked perfectly positioned. Harry couldn't really see what Draco was doing, but he could feel the soft play of his mouth, and he moaned as he took Draco's cock back into his own. Jutting down at this angle, he found, it was easy to take deep -- if anything, too easy. He didn't think he would have been able to keep from choking if he wasn't desperately horny. Draco, at least, seemed to have dropped his leisurely play, and as Harry moved faster, he kept time, the warm grip of his mouth squeezing up and sliding down Harry's shaft. He whimpered too, which always drove Harry mad, because it was Draco being _undignified_ , which surely meant he was lost to sensation. 

At another such sound, Harry gripped the cheeks of Draco's arse, and pulled himself as close as he could, not even minding when Draco's mouth went slack, because he was crying out around Harry's cock, and Harry wanted to tell him how sexy he was, how perfect, how much he mattered, but not at the expense of stopping, not when he was clearly so close.... 

With a final cry, Draco's mouth came off Harry's cock entirely, and with a quickly caught twitch of his hips, he was coming, the thick stuff pulsing out so suddenly that Harry didn't have time to worry about it before it was down. He pulled away quickly, grabbing quick gulps of air before returning to lick out the few last drops. 

"Shh," Draco soothed, gentle now. "Lie down. Relax." 

Harry lay down, though he couldn't have said he relaxed, really. He was far too caught up in the feel of Draco's mouth, and with trying to keep his answering thrusts shallow enough for Draco to move with. Holding still was impossible, and even staying aware of what he doing became so, as his arousal sent him into a state that was all sensation. His eyes closed. Behind them, light flashed as his senses overloaded. _Heat. Tightness. Suspension. Release_. He _felt_ sound leave his throat. A moment later, as his eyes opened, he heard the memory of his cry. 

"Well," Draco said smugly. "That was impressive."

"Mm." Harry let his lids sink closed again. "Love you," he murmured.

"You _lit_ the entire bed."

His eyes opened of their own accord. "I what?" 

"Illuminated it. Like a flare. Aren't you a little old for accidental magic?"

"Oh, yeah. Never stopped that." Harry yawned, and tugged Draco up to lie beside him. "Snape says it may mean I can learn wandless magic. He's offered to teach me." 

Draco stiffened. 

"Look, if you don't--"

"Hush." Draco kissed his cheek. "You should definitely accept. I'll come along." 

"Okay." Harry moved uncertainly. "Are we all right?"

"Hm." Draco gave him a wicked smile. "Will you ply me with gifts and favors if I demur?"

Trying to pretend he was amused, Harry rolled his eyes. "Go off and sulk, more likely."

"When I have your clothes?"

"Draco," Harry said pleadingly, and Draco sighed. 

"I love you, Harry. Of course we are 'all right', as you say. However, I will be keeping more of an eye on you, and you are not allowed to be sullen about it."

Harry snorted. He thought he should object -- it could be like Hermione all over again -- but he was too relieved. "Fortunately," he observed, "I love you too."

 

 

The next day, Harry skipped breakfast in favor of sleep. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a practical lesson, and by the end of it, he felt normally awake. Draco invited Hermione to sit with them during Charms, so Harry was careful not to say much. Twice, he caught Ron watching them, but each time their eyes met, his friend looked away with a scowl. Before he left for Symbology, Harry invited Hermione to meet him for studying in the mixed-house space after lessons.

 

"Draco talked to me," Millicent said, as she and Harry walked down towards Hagrid's hut. 

"How did it go?"

She shrugged. "He had to start with some absurd claim, of course, as a test, but I told him what you'd really told him, and he seemed satisfied. I wasn't sure until I saw the two of you in Potions, but then it was clear everything was all right." She shot a sidelong glance at Harry as they picked their way down the rocky hillside. "He said I was messing up your relationship with Hermione. Is that what you started to tell me, the other day?"

"That's part of it." Harry wondered if she'd consider that a weak reason. 

"Because she hates me."

Harry stopped. "No. I mean, she is less reasonable about you than about Draco, but the real problem is that I don't have explanations for the time I spend with you. I can't even tell her that it's with you, or she'll look into it more. That means she asks more questions about other things that she'd normally let slide. If Draco is willing to say I was with him, every other Sunday afternoon, that should help a lot." 

"Oh." Brow wrinkling, she stared past his shoulder for a moment, until he almost began to wonder if there was something behind him. "That makes sense," she said finally, resuming their walk. "It is a long time. Some of my housemates are noticing too." 

"And we're only half-way through the course." 

"Yeah." 

 

"Here already?" Draco commented, as he sat down at Harry's table in the mixed house space. Harry stopped smoothing the feathering of his quill and set it aside. 

"Eh. I have last period free, Thursday. I was in the corridor when Sprout came to open the room." 

"Mm. I'm rather glad it's not Severus." 

"Yeah, me too." 

"Even more so, I expect." 

"Probably." 

"Shall we start the Cursebreaking project?"

"So that we are working on it when Hermione arrives? Excellent idea." 

"Just don't expect her too soon. She'll ask as many questions after a lesson as her professor will allow." 

In fact, it was nearly half an hour later when Hermione finally joined them. As they had planned, Harry and Draco started explaining what they were working on for Cursebreaking, and then, once she was fascinated, Harry suggested that they find someplace more private for a practical. 

 

"So, this has more than one curse on it?" Hermione asked, as she studied the little clay disk in front of her. 

"Fairly minor hexes, actually. Professor Hecksban is careful not to send anyone out of the classroom with anything they can't dispel on their own."

"Um -- he does make sure we can all cancel a Muting hex wordlessly, though," Harry added quickly. "But if you hit that one, we'll be here." 

Hermione cast a few diagnostic charms on the disk -- rather elementary ones, Harry noted, surprised to realize that he was, for once, more knowledgeable. 

After multiple attempts, she frowned. "I don't know what's wrong. All I can find is a nosebleed hex."

"Well, you'll have to trigger that one, then," Harry said. 

He had forgotten that she wouldn't hesitate. Seconds later, he was casting a healing charm, while Draco -- with a glare for him -- spelled blood off of Hermione's robes.

Harry stepped back, easing behind Hermione as Draco encouraged her to recast the diagnostic charms. While she was finding the previously obscured Muting hex, he was lifting the Credulity curse. 

"And it was there all along?" Hermione asked. 

"Yes," Draco answered. "And there's another below that." 

"How do I know you're not just casting them while I'm distracted? Harry wasn't even in sight." 

"I'll sit right here," Harry promised, his heart soaring. He hoisted himself up on the table next to the disk, then, for completeness, drew his wand and laid it across his lap. "Go ahead. After this, we'll show you how it's done." 

 

Hermione was fascinated by the principle of obstructive layering, and not adverse to asking questions and knocking holes in Harry's answers. To his relief, she didn't seem aware of the change in her outlook. A few times, Harry saw her rub her forehead, looking momentarily confused, but the accusations that he had expected never materialized. When they were done with the demonstration, they went back to the mixed-house space, and when Hermione started answering Arithmancy questions from Draco, Harry excused himself. 

"I think I'll go up to Gryffindor," he said. "I have a letter to write before dinner." 

Hermione looked up from the problem she was stepping through. "Just Gryffindor?" she asked.

"Well, maybe the Owlery, if I finish," Harry amended. "If I'm not in the Common Room, I'll see you in the Great Hall, okay?" 

Hermione pursed her lips. Draco nudged her. 

"I think Harry will survive an hour unsupervised," he said pointedly.

"An hour?" Hermione glanced at her watch, and shook her head. "Where did the time go? All right, Harry." 

 

Harry didn't really have any more to write in the letter, beyond signing his name. When he got to Gryffindor, he looked around for Neville, and spotted him over by the windows in the last light of sunset. 

"Neville."

"Oh, hi, Harry." Neville quickly set his quill in its holder. "Do you need something?"

"I'd like to talk to you." Harry glanced around at their housemates. "Someplace more private than this. Come upstairs with me?"

"Of course," Neville said quickly. Leaving his things, Neville followed Harry up to the dormitory. As Harry had hoped, it was empty. 

"What's this about, then?" Neville asked, after Harry had cast a privacy charm on the door. 

"An invitation." Harry sat down on Ron's bed, across from Neville, who was sitting on his own. "Draco and I have a mixed-house social group. It's been going for about a month now, and we've decided to expand. We think you'd make a good addition." 

"'We' as in you and Malfoy?" Neville asked, incredulously.

"Well, all of us. It's seventh- and sixth-years, and we talked about it last week, and chose a few people."

Neville's eyes widened still more, at that. 

"Why me?" he asked. "I mean, I'd think.... I'm not spectacular company, Harry."

"We're not looking for entertainment," Harry said carefully. "You're a good person, Nev. Everyone thinks so." 

To his dismay, Neville looked wary. "Do I have to do anything?" he asked. 

"Not really," Harry answered, pushing a lock of hair back behind his ear. "Just keep the location and other members secret." Neville, however, was staring at his hand. Harry looked down at it and realized his bracelet was showing. 

"The other members," Neville said slowly. "Might they not be, er, terribly secret?" 

Harry grinned. "Maybe not. But still -- we don't talk about it." 

Neville thought for a moment. "Ron wouldn't," he guessed. 

"Right. He doesn't really approve of a mixed-house group." 

"Or jewelry?"

Harry laughed. Neville was more clever than most people thought. "The jewelry's optional," he said. 

Decisively, Neville nodded. "All right, then. I'll give it a go. When?" 

"Leave dinner with me tomorrow," Harry suggested. "I'll take you from there. Oh -- and skip puddings." 

 

When they returned to the Common Room, Harry sat down on one of the sofas by the fire, and Neville settled at the other end of it. It felt unjustifiably uncomfortable. After all, if wasn't as if that place was reserved for Ron. Harry looked around, and spotted Ron over by the window, frowning at his Divination text. 

When Hermione came in, she walked straight over, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to sit between him and Neville, which would have been just too weird. Instead, she stood across the table, giving him an odd, tense look. 

"Harry? A moment, if you please?"

"Um, okay." Trying to conceal his anxiety, he stacked his books before standing up and following her to her room. 

"So," she said. "The other day...."

"What of it?" he asked, trying to look puzzled. 

"Well, you said that -- with Millicent -- that you hadn't broken any rules that I hadn't." She twirled a finger in her hair, giving him a moment to recover from his relief. "But the more I think about it, the less reassuring that is. After all, there are a number of things that I have done in the past that I'm not sure I'd approve of now." She looked up at him. "I'd like you to be more specific." 

He bit his lip. "I don't think I can be. I'm sorry."

"Harry, please. I'm asking you to talk to me, because I don't want you to get in trouble for something I should have seen, okay?"

"Yeah, but...." He sighed. _She wants to believe me. She wants to trust me._ He repeated that to himself like a mantra while he thought. "Look," he said slowly, "Mill trusts me, so I know a lot of her secrets -- about her family, and her ambitions, and such. And I _like_ her, so her happiness is important to me. You don't like her, and she doesn't trust you, so there's not a lot that I can tell you without telling you things that she wouldn't want you to know. You'll just have to believe me when I say it's nothing unethical, and it's nothing illegal." 

"Is there anything you _can_ tell me?"

Harry made himself think, rather than bursting out with a denial or protest. "Among other things, I'm helping her with Charms. That's why I've been doing more research than usual." 

"Oh, does she want to improve her looks?" Hermione said sharply. "Seem smaller, perhaps?" 

"How dare you!" Harry found he had stepped towards her. She stepped back. 

"Well, you are working with glamours."

"And?" Harry demanded furiously. "If you were a boy, I'd--" He stopped. "Look," he said, more moderately, "how would _you_ react if you said you were helping Susan Bones with Charms, and I said, 'Oh, does she want to do something about that hair?'"

He said the last like Lavender at her worst, and Hermione blinked. "I see your point," she said hesitantly. "I'd scold you, but Bulstrode really is .... I mean, most girls our age are _pretty_ , really." 

Harry knew what she meant, and that he'd never in his life consider Millicent pretty, but it still rankled. "Listen," he said. "if boys shouldn't talk about girls like that, you shouldn't do it to each other, either."

After a long silence, Hermione nodded. "Fair enough," she said. "And I'm sorry." 

"Just so you know, she doesn't much care about pretty."

"All girls care, Harry," Hermione said, and with a wry smile, added, "even me." 

"You are pretty! I'll remind Ron to mention it, when you're speaking again." 

Shaking her head, she turned away. "I'm not sure there's any point. If he hasn't learned by now that when he invites someone out, he should compliment them at least once, he's not going to, is he?"

"Hermione...." He moved close again, slowly this time, and stroked her back. "He _thinks_ you're pretty." 

"Probably, but all he'll tell me is that I'm too pushy." With a huff, she turned back to him. "Harry. Do you think there's any chance we'll work things out? Ron and I?"

"Oh." Torn between the desire to reassure her and the fear of making things worse, he wrapped his arms around her while he thought, and let her lean against him. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "You seem to want different things."

"Well, with Apparation, it would be easy to maintain a country--"

" _Hermione._ I mean, what he wants you to _be_ and what you want to be are different. And--"

"That's just maturity, though, isn't it? I mean, he still plans like a boy--"

"Hermione," he said again. "What you want _him_ to be and what he wants to be are different too." 

That left him with nothing to do but to hold her while she cried, and to worry that he had just done something horrible.

 

The next day was Friday, and while things were more comfortable between Harry and Hermione -- enough so that he caught Ron frowning while he watched them playing with their Animation spells in Charms -- he worried about disappearing for the evening. Neville, Luna, and Susan would be joining the Uncommon Room group, and he didn't want to leave early. After lessons, he found himself sitting with Hermione in a window alcove, letting her vent about Ron. 

"It's not fair. I didn't even do anything; I just wasn't angry at you enough for him. And what is the point of that? Not talking to someone doesn't help anything." 

"Unless you say something awful," Harry blurted out. "Maybe that's it. Ron's not good at holding his temper when he's angry; you know that. Deep down, maybe not speaking to us is a way not to make it worse." He coughed. "Um -- speaking of talking...?"

"What is it?" 

"Well ... I really need some time away from Gryffindor. I'm not going to be around this evening, and I thought you might like to know in advance." 

"Oh." Her brow furrowed for a moment, and then cleared. "Thank you. You'll be back on time?"

"I promise." 

"All right." Her cheeks dimpled in a smile. "If you're not late and you're not drunk, I won't bother you about it." 

Grinning, Harry held out his hand. "Deal." 

They shook on it. 

 

"Harry?" Neville whispered, as Harry led the way down the fourth floor corridor. 

"Hm?"

"There are people behind us." 

"Yeah." Harry glanced back, even though he had caught a glimpse of Sophia at the last turn. "Don't worry. They're us."

"Oh." Neville took a shaky breath. "Ravenclaws?"

"I did say 'mixed', didn't I?"

"Yes, but--" Neville shook his head. "You really think I'll be okay?"

"You'll be fine." 

 

This was their fifth Friday gathering, and they were out of beer and down to three bottles of wine, so Draco had decided that tonight's refreshments would be an assortment of little cakes and sweets with a choice of coffee, tea, or hot milk. He hadn't mentioned that he was planning to arrange them with white roses and sprays of currants. When Harry and Neville came around the curve in the passage, the impressive display claimed their immediate attention. Curves of glossy green leaves, white blossoms, and translucent red berries separated china cups and silver carafes from a tiered display of glossy chocolate cubes and orbs, glittering crystallized flower petals, and golden custard tarts. 

"Oh," Neville said softly. "I, er, had been wondering about the instruction to skip pudding." His face colored. "I mean, I'm not as tubby as I was...."

Harry winced. "No, I'd meant--" It hadn't occurred to him that Neville might take the phrase critically. His face would always tend to roundness, but years of the stairs to Gryffindor tower had compressed much of his fat to muscle. "Honestly, Neville -- you haven't been overly heavy in years." 

"I doubt a Gryffindor could be," Draco said cheerily, coming over to settle an arm around Harry's waist and press up against his side. "The house seems designed to be exhausting. Do you like my presentation, love?"

"It's gorgeous," Harry said readily. "I'll almost be sorry to take things out of it." 

"No need for regret." Draco set his head flirtatiously to the side. "Such things are created to be ephemeral. Though do wait until a few more people arrive." 

Harry could hear the door opening again -- presumably the Ravenclaws. "Neville," he said quickly, "Introductions. Just for a fresh start, this is my boyfriend, Draco." 

Neville's eyebrows went up, and Draco's mouth curled in amusement, but they compliantly shook hands. 

"Do you prefer to be addressed as Longbottom, or as Neville?" Draco asked politely. 

"Er..." Neville straightened. "I suppose it depends," he said, with more composure than Harry would have expected. "I'll tell you at the end of the evening, shall I?" With that, he turned fractionally towards Linnet, the room's only other occupant, and Harry had to move quickly to introduce them. By that time, the Ravenclaws were in the room, and Sophia was presenting a wide-eyed blond girl with a placid smile as Luna Lovegood. 

"Where's Padma?" Linnet asked. 

"She's bringing Susan." 

"Ah. That makes sense, I suppose." 

"Hello, Harry Potter." Luna dipped in almost a curtsy. "Draco Malfoy. Thank you for inviting me." 

"It was a group decision," Harry said quickly. "A number of the sixth years spoke well of you." 

"Oh?" She blinked. "How surprising," she said, with apparent equilibrium. "It's so hard to tell about people; don't you think so?"

"Er," Harry stuttered uncertainly. He didn't want to agree with the girl's implication that she was unliked! On the other hand, hadn't he experienced the same thing himself? During the Triwizard Tournament, people had treated him like dirt, and then praised him. "Yeah," he said, giving her a little smile. "Sometimes."

 

The initial tumult of people arriving, filling little plates, greeting friends, and being introduced to newcomers gradually settled. Harry noticed that Neville had chosen a seat between Seamus and Ginny. From that refuge, he was watching the others in the room more keenly than Harry would have expected. Harry wasn't sure anyone from another house would notice the quick, deliberate movements of his eyes above the slightly slack jaw and round cheeks. 

"What shall we do tonight?" Linnet asked brightly, taking a place on the other side of Draco from Harry. "A round of 'I Never' to welcome the new recruits?" 

"Not without Parvati!" Seamus exclaimed. "We'd never hear the end of that."

"She's in the Hospital Wing," Padma explained. "One of my housemates tried to feed her a love potion." 

"Tried?" Gilbert asked. 

"She has a very good sense of smell."

Frowning, Linnet set her head to one side. "Why's she in the Hospital Wing, then?" 

"Because when she slapped him, he crushed the chocolate in his fist, and they both got spattered." She rolled her eyes. " _Amatorius_ is not intended for topical application." 

"On the plus side, he got some in his mouth, and is currently mad for Professor Sprout." 

While the scattered laughter cleared, Linnet pushed her hair back. "No games, then," she acquiesced. "However, Harry owes me an answer about one of his beads. Shall we explain to them to the new members?" 

"Or you could behave yourself and ask him more privately," Gilbert said with a frown. "I hardly consider this preferable to the Slytherin Common Room."

Harry shrugged. "I don't mind. And it _is_ better, really."

"Oh?"

"No one here is particularly out for my blood."

With an offhanded lift of one shoulder, Gilbert dismissed the point. "True. However, that means you have more to lose." 

"It's not a big deal, really," Harry said. Reaching across Draco, he displayed his bracelet to Linnet. "The plain green one, right?"

"Exactly." 

"Yeah. Mill's asked me about that already. You already know the questionable stuff."

"That you stole something?" she asked tartly.

He rolled his eyes, trying to pretend he wasn't embarrassed. "That I was drunk in a Muggle village, last year."

"And that excuses you?"

"No, listen. Draco and I had used an Aging potion to buy the alcohol, and I said it would be easier if we had false ID -- identification cards, that is -- that said we were a couple of years older. And he wanted to see one. So, there was this young woman sitting in a park, reading -- we were up in the bell tower of a church, looking down -- and he told me to fly down and take her knapsack. So I did, and we looked through it, and then I returned it, with _almost_ everything back in it, before she left the park."

Linnet frowned thoughtfully. "The exception being her identification?" 

"The exception being a folding mirror that Draco used to catch an image of her identification." 

"Ah." She nodded. "All right. Rather harmless, really." She hesitated. "Mirrors aren't expensive for Muggles, are they?" 

Cornelia whooped. "If they were, would she be carrying one around?"

"Well, maybe it was important."

"Nah. Just for doing her face, likely. You can get them for a pound or so at any druggists." 

"A pound of what?" Gilbert asked curiously.

"It's a type of money. A few Sickles worth." 

"Are you Muggleborn?" Gilbert asked. Harry was amused to see his eyes widen as soon as the words came out of his mouth. "Merely curious," he added hastily. "You needn't answer if you'd rather not."

Cornelia snorted. "Don't know why I wouldn't," she retorted. "I'm half-and-half. Not unusual." 

"Ah," Harry said. "And you're the other one with that green. What's that about?" 

Cornelia didn't blush easily, but when she did, it was all high in her cheeks, with the bright red of fever. "Not nearly as interesting, I'm afraid. I was six, and it wasn't so much that I wanted her light-up fairy wand as I wanted her to stop boasting about it. My mum found it, of course, and made me give it back, and worse yet, apologize."

"What are you talking about?" asked Susan. "Stealing things?"

"Right." Ginny showed Susan bracelet. "We were playing a parlor game; you can't tell anyone outside this room about it. Someone said he'd never stolen from a Muggle girl, and the people who had -- that's Harry and Cornelia -- had to take a bead."

"The bright green one," Harry added, showing her.

Susan frowned. "Are all of those for stealing things?" She asked. "Because I won't."

A number of people laughed. 

"No, no!" Harry exclaimed. "No, let's see -- this is for falling asleep in the library, and--" He ran a finger over the beads looking for something else harmless -- "and _this_ for taking the advice in Patrick's Pitch Pointers column...."

"Kissing a girl," Gilbert said, showing her his pink bead. 

Linnet giggled and caught the one next to it. "But _this_ is for wearing eyeliner." 

"I told you, I have two older sisters!" Gilbert protested. "And both were Slytherins. _Draco_ , on the other hand...."

"Got what I wanted out of Pansy in exchange." 

"What astounds me," Blaise said, "is that we have a theft bead that Draco _didn't_ get."

Except for Harry, the Gryffindors all froze in apprehension. Harry thought they might be expecting some sort of explosion, but Draco just smirked as the Slytherins laughed. 

"He _did_ require some instruction on acceptable behavior in Gryffindor," Harry said dryly.

"And you think he took it?" Blaise demanded. 

"Of course I did," Draco retorted placidly. "I can buy a shrinking chess set whenever I wish; replacing Harry would be impossible." 

"Dear Merlin! He's being a good influence on you?"

"Nonsense. I'm merely being practical."

"Prat!" Harry exclaimed, poking him. 

"All right. I was in the first flush of a hopeless crush."

Seamus whooped. "Not so hopeless, I think."

"Thanks to you, I hear."

"What?" Seamus exclaimed.

Harry leaned cozily against Draco. "Well, it never would have occurred to me if you hadn't assumed it." 

"Ah, that!" 

"So," Gilbert asked, leaning forward towards Cornelia, "what's a 'Fairy wand' and why would a Muggle have one?"

"Oh, it's just a toy," Cornelia said. "For pretending to be ... not like a tiny real Fairy, you know, but a human-sized, powerful, beautiful one, with a gauzy dress and something between a wand and a sceptre...."

"Ah," Gilbert said, "Fey." 

"Fey?" 

"The old sort of fairies. A different race entirely. They were killed off by water systems and such."

Draco snorted. "Unlikely. They vanished in the eighteenth century, and the Muggles hadn't made lines across much of the country yet."

"Oh, don't tell me you believe they're still living in secret!" Linnet exclaimed. 

"Why not?" Susan interjected. "We have a pact to conceal ourselves from Muggles; why shouldn't the Fey conceal themselves from us?"

"Especially as they were, by all accounts, as inherently skilled in glamours as the centaurs are at divination." 

"So they might still be around?" Neville exclaimed. "The sort of folktale fairy that steals babies, and seduces men, then keeps them imprisoned?"

"And women!" Ginny said cheerily, while Draco said, "Yes, exactly." 

 

They continued chatting until nearly curfew. Harry had to run up the stairs to fulfill his promise to Hermione. 

 


	28. Colorful Girls and Fairy Gifts

 

"How are things going with Hermione?" Draco asked on Saturday morning. They had met in the Uncommon room to clean up from the night before, as they often did. Draco thought they should have Dobby do it, but Harry didn't want to strain his loyalties that greatly. 

"Not too badly," Harry answered slowly, as he turned over a cushion, looking for chocolate smears. "Last night, I told her in advance that I'd be out late, and I think that helped. On the other hand, if I keep doing that, she'll notice sooner who else disappears, and that it's every Friday."

Draco nodded. "We need to bring her in soon." 

"On the Uncommon Room?" Harry asked incredulously. "I'm not sure that's a good idea." 

"It will be fine," Draco said. "Warn the others ahead of time, limit any wine and beer to those of us who are of age, and there's nothing to fear. She may not approve, but she won't tell." 

"I don't know." Harry bit his lip. "I mean, I want to, but I still think it's too much of a risk."

"We need to tell her something soon, and it had better be something substantial. She _knows_ you have secrets, and this is the safest."

"I suppose," Harry said. "I want...." He shrugged. 

"You want her to believe you for no reason." 

"I want to tell her everything," Harry said quickly. "Everything, including that I cursed her, so she can get upset, and demand whatever she wants for that, and we can get over it, and I can stop feeling guilty about it."

His eyes closing for a moment, Draco took a long breath. "Terribly Gryffindor of you," he said dryly, his face turning bland again, "but that, I believe, is a more important secret to keep. The chances of her reporting such an incident are far higher, although it would be done with your welfare in mind." 

"Right. I'd almost have to tell her about Millicent to have a chance, but Mill doesn't trust her, and it's _her_ secret, not mine."

Draco nodded as he considered this. 

"Let us start with the Uncommon Room, then," he said. "We'll need to persuade at least some of the others; leave that to me."

"Should we try a false location, first?"

Rolling his eyes, Draco sighed. "Harry," he said patiently, "the point is to engender trust. If we bring her in on a secret, and then say we were deceiving her about it, that will not--" 

At a sound from the direction of the corridor, both of them twitched and Draco fell silent. Harry twisted to watch the passage. At the other end of it, the door clicked shut. 

"Millicent?" 

Draco whispered the guess, and Harry shook his head. 

"She's louder," he whispered back. 

"Harry?" came Ron's uncertain voice. "You there?"

Harry froze. Ron hadn't spoke to him for a week. Why was he here? Had he brought a professor? He and Draco exchanged a worried look. "Here," Harry called back.

"Decent?"

"Yeah. Come in."

Ducking his head as if the archway was lower than it was, Ron came quickly into view. "Professor Dumbledore sent for you to come to his office," he said with a sympathetic grimace, as if they had never been fighting. "Hermione was having fits about no one knowing where you were, so I said I'd look and ducked out before she decided to follow me. You better go right now." 

Nodding numbly, Harry got to his feet. Draco was holding his arm. 

"I'll walk with you," Draco said. 

"What do you think this is about?" Ron asked anxiously. "Do you think he found out about the divination? Or all this?" Ron indicated the room with a broad sweep of his arm. Draco straightened and lightened his voice. 

"No telling," he said. "It might just be about Quidditch, or information about Nott. Harry, _please_ try to look a little less guilty, would you? You haven't done anything irreparable." 

Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said to Ron. It was the best acknowledgement he could think of. 

"No problem," Ron said with a shrug, as they left the room together. "Good luck." 

"I'll let you know," Harry promised. 

Ron went up the stairs, presumably on his way back to Gryffindor, while Harry and Draco headed down. Draco waited until Ron was well out of earshot before speaking again. 

"What on earth was that?" he asked. "Has he not been giving you the cold shoulder for a week?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Shouldn't there be an 'I'm sorry,' or at least an 'I've decided to forgive you'?" 

"Not with Ron." Harry shrugged. "I don't need it." 

"Well, I wouldn't put up with that! How do you ever know where you stand with him?" Draco grimaced. "I can't imagine Hermione would find that adequate." 

Harry groaned. "Not by half. Maybe I'll avoid Gryffindor for the rest of the weekend."

"Will they have a spectacular row?"

"More likely, he'll talk to her, she'll hug him and cry in relief, and then ten minutes later, after he pretends nothing happened, _she_ won't be speaking to _him_."

"And will that, also, last for week?"

"No, but a day or two." Harry sighed. "Or maybe he's learned something and will apologize for dragging her into a fight with me." 

They had arrived at the headmaster's office. For a moment, both regarded the gargoyle uncertainly. Draco broke the silence. 

"I have my notebook," he said. "I'll stay close. Let me know when you're done." 

"Okay." 

 

At the top of the winding stairs, Harry took a deep breath. He would start with _'Good morning, Professor_ ,' and then, if Dumbledore looked grim, move on to ' _Is something wrong?'_ With a decisive nod, he schooled his expression to polite neutrality, set a hand on the knob, and turned it. 

As a gap appeared between door and wall, hearty laughter tumbled out. Now genuinely curious, Harry pushed the door fully open. 

The pink-haired Auror was there -- except at the moment, her hair was a brilliant turquoise with streaks of gold -- the colors exactly matching Dumbledore's resplendent, starred robes. That seemed to be what was amusing them. 

"Ah, the perfect hue! You never fail to delight me, Miss Tonks." He turned to share his smile with Harry. "Harry, good! I thought one of your friends might be able to find you. You remember Auror Tonks, I presume?"

"Yes, of course," Harry said, stepping up to extend his hand. Tonks shook it firmly, giving him a friendly smile above the contact. 

"Hi, Harry. Good to see you again."

"You too," Harry said. He couldn't think of anything more personalized, not when his mind had suddenly leapt to thoughts of Sirius. There must be news! There must be good news, or she and Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be so cheerful, would they?"

"As I expect you have surmised," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling over his spectacles at Harry, "Auror Tonks is a trusted associate of mine. She has some matters to discuss with you, and you may be frank with her about all things -- even those you might normally be reluctant to share with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Furthermore, I have already given my permission for an invitation she intends to extend, so you are free to decide that matter upon personal merits alone." 

He turned to include Tonks. "With that, I will leave you to it, my dear. When you are done, simply leave the office, but _do_ try not to forget anything. My doorkeepers are protective by their nature."

"Got it!" she said cheerily. "Thank you, professor!" 

"You are quite welcome." With a little bow, Dumbledore swept out of the office, although Fawkes, Harry noted, stayed behind on his perch. 

Harry swallowed. "Is this ... about Sirius?"

"Nothing huge, I'm sorry to say, but yes. We're making progress. We have small, but significant, fragments of evidence that Pettigrew is alive, as you know, and the investigation has been reopened, but it's stalled. While there are provisions to use Veritaserum on convicted criminals -- so we're fairly sure he's alive -- there is no way to force someone to extract a memory, which we'd need to distribute a quality sketch. I'm here to ask you if you'd be willing to provide a pensieved memory of your encounters with Pettigrew."

"Of course!" Harry said. Belatedly recalling how Sirius had changed forms, he said. "Just those bits, though."

She nodded. "Right. I can help you with that, if you get too much at first." 

He let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks." 

"You'll need to do a Veritaserum interview too, but--" 

His sudden tension was apparently visible, because she paused. "Is that a problem?"

He met her eyes steadily, following Draco's advice on not looking guilty. She knew he had secrets about Sirius, he was sure, and she'd been sympathetic at the trial. It would probably make sense to her that he wasn't thrilled with the idea. "Depends on what people ask, doesn't it?" he returned. "And I can think lots of things I wouldn't want to tell a stranger, even though they're not...." He shrugged, and to his relief, she grinned at him. 

"I know what you mean! But it's not a problem. Witness interviews under Veritaserum aren't at all like criminal interviews! We'll negotiate the questions with you ahead of time, so you won't be asked anything you haven't consented to, and you get to choose one of the Aurors present and have right of refusal for the other. So choose me, and Kingsley Shacklebolt will arrange to be the senior Auror, and you'll be safe."

That wasn't anything like he had feared, but it still seemed heavy-handed. He also couldn't be sure it was entirely safe for _him_ , just that it wouldn't compromise war secrets. What if they wanted to ask about Dark Arts, or illegal activities at school, or something like that? Would she let him say he couldn't answer that? "Why do you need Veritaserum at all?"

Her multi-colored hair bobbed as she set her head to the side. "Oh," she said. "You wouldn't know, would you? Memories can be misleading, and a few talented witches and wizards can even fake them. We need you to attest to it and provide the context. Veritaserum is the only safeguard considered adequate for legal testimony." 

After considering that for a moment, Harry nodded. "All right. For Sirius. Now?"

"Oh, Merlin, no! It will take a week to get the paperwork started, and then we need to agree upon the questions." In a sudden dramatic movement, she put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, dear me! I seem to have forgotten to record this conversation! We'll need to start again." 

She winked, and Harry laughed. "Without the negotiations?" he suggested. 

"Exactly. But first..." She suddenly looked a bit shy. "Um, he -- the one I've never met, of course -- was asking about you. How you were, you know? And I'd like to get to know my other cousin better. May I take you both out to lunch, after we're done here?"

This, Harry realized, must be the invitation Dumbledore had mentioned. So Tonks had spoken with Sirius, had she? "Okay," he said. "Or, um, let me ask him." Taking out the white notebook, he wrote: 

_Your cousin (the Auror) wants to take us out to lunch. Interested? I think it would be fun._

Looking up, he found Tonks watching with interest. She gave a little nod as words appeared under his. 

_I would be delighted. I will await you in the corridor._

"Clever," Tonks said approvingly. 

She started a recording device -- a sort of floating ball -- and she went quickly through the motions of requesting pensieved testimony and a limited Veritaserum interview. He still asked about the parameters -- he thought he'd look like a fool if he didn't -- but the matter was quickly concluded. In a few minutes, they were riding the circular staircase down. 

 

"Miss Tonks," Draco stepped towards them as if he had just arrived at the spot, although Harry suspected he had been waiting. "Good to see you, cousin." His smile took on a sly edge. "Especially outside of a professional context." 

She nodded cheerily. "Rather the point! I really think we ought to get to know each other, don't you? Old feuds are for the old people." With a cheery smile, she gestured toward the front staircase. "Professor Dumbledore said I could take the two of you to Hogsmeade, and even borrow school brooms for it, as long as they're old Cleansweeps." 

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Did he really? Were it anyone else, I'd suspect a trap."

"Dumbledore told me it was okay," Harry put in.

"But think! Off school grounds with the slowest brooms available?" 

Tonks brushed the objection away. "Once we get to the Three Broomsticks, we can floo back in an emergency, and if that happens, old brooms won't be anything we need to save."

"And before then?"

"Even if they're watching, they won't be ready. We'll make it to the pub." 

Draco sighed dramatically. "You were a Gryffindor, weren't you?" 

"No." She grinned cheekily at him, her hair sparkling back to pink. Harry caught his breath, and Draco's eyes widened slightly. Harry could tell even he was impressed.

"Slytherin?" he asked.

"Hufflepuff," she told him brightly. "Let's go." 

 

In the pub, Tonks ordered a ploughman's lunch, and Harry a mixed grill. To his surprise, Draco asked for stew, which seemed a rather plebian order. Harry wondered if he were trying to appear less haughty for his cousin's benefit. After Rosmerta left, an awkward silence descended. 

"So," Harry said finally, "Did you mean it about being a Hufflepuff?"

Tonks frowned. Even her hair darkened slightly, streaks shading to maroon. "Do you think that's unbelievable for an Auror?"

"Not at all."

"Harry is asking, I expect, because we're curious about the house," Draco interposed. "I don't know how much you hear from Hogwarts, but we're part of a coalition of students that are attempting to foster inter-house cooperation."

Brows down, Tonks looked between the two of them. "Then why ask _me_ about Hufflepuff?" she challenged. "Don't you know? Let me guess -- this inter-house group is just Slytherins and Gryffindors." 

"Well, Ravenclaws were no problem," Harry said awkwardly. "One of my housemates has a Ravenclaw twin."

"That gave us a place to start," Draco explained. "However, we have no such 'in' to Hufflepuff." 

"And the only class Gryffindor ever has with them is Herbology." 

Apparently mollified, but still challenging, Tonks settled back. "Okay," she said. "What _do_ you know? Let's start with that."

"What?"

"Consider reputation. What does the Sorting Hat say about the house?"

"Oh." Harry and Draco looked at each other. "Well," Harry said, accepting a warm butterbeer from Rosmerta, "diligent, for one." 

"Loyal," Draco added. "I often thought Crabbe and Goyle should have been Hufflepuffs. They didn't have any real ambitions of their own." 

"But they weren't diligent, either," Harry argued. "And aren't Hufflepuffs supposed to be honest?" 

"Forthright, I think," Draco said. "That isn't quite the same." 

"Well, that gives us a place to start," Tonks stated. "What about ones you've had some interaction with?"

"Susan Bones has a quiet moral bravery," Harry offered. He looked away. "But Ernie's a pompous ass." 

"A well-meaning one though, I believe," Draco added. "And Gilbert's little sister is clever and observant, despite her optimism."

Harry looked over at Tonks. "The thing is, I don't think a person's house says that much about their character," he admitted. "I know too many people who argued the Sorting Hat into changes, and even more that I believe it Sorted on their name or expectation alone." 

She regarded him curiously. "So, isn't that contradicting yourself? If it makes no difference to their character, what's there to know? Why ask?"

"Because I think your house _does_ affect where you go from there. If I'd accepted Slytherin, for example, I probably would have been a better student, but I would have stayed far more secretive, and become sneakier."

Draco snorted. "It's not like you're all that forthcoming now, but agreed. I do think, however, that Slytherin would have taught you to manipulate your fame more productively." 

Ignoring the things confessed to Tonks in that exchange, Harry pressed on. "So, I suppose what I really want to know is what Hufflepuffs value," he explained. "What did you admire in each other?" 

"Have you known any admired Hufflepuffs?" she countered. She was drawing him out like a professor might, Harry decided. He wondered if interrogation was similar.

"Well, Cedric Diggory," he answered. He bit his lip against a twist in his gut and a catch in his throat. "But who wouldn't have admired him? He was handsome, and bold, and kind...."

"Right," Draco said, sounding slightly disgusted. "And _that_ is the house your lot should be paired with. _We_ could tolerate the Ravenclaws; at least they understand evaluating the consequences of an action, even if they're spotty on applying the skill to real life." 

"I always thought that was odd," Tonks agreed. "Putting Gryffindors and Slytherins together seems like asking for trouble, and Hufflepuffs with Ravenclaws isn't much better." She snorted. "We hardly got a chance to say anything." 

"That's the thing," Harry said. "I don't think houses getting along was ever the point." 

"But Miss Tonks has a valuable observation," Draco pointed out. "What if the point was actually to _promote_ house animosity?"

"Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do that!" Tonks looked shocked.

Draco shrugged. "Who's to say it originated with him? My grandfather's portrait has talked about classes with Gryffindors, when I complained."

"You think we're set up to hate each other?" Harry asked uneasily.

"Perhaps." 

Tonks clicked her tongue against her teeth, sounding suddenly far older and stodgier. "Or you could just be paranoid." 

"It's possible," Draco said seriously, "but I don't believe so. This is the culture we inherited, with the bickering of the Founders entrenched into procedure."

"It's not all bad," Harry put in. "Houses, I mean. It's good to be with people who don't think you're mad, and I can understand why a school might want to cultivate someone's greatest strength." 

"Of course," Draco said. "An admirable goal. But for the well rounded witch or wizard -- let us say the clever Hufflepuff or brave Ravenclaw -- at what cost? What stagnates when you are isolated with those who share a trait you would express anyway?"

"Would you?" Tonks challenged.

She was focused on Draco, but Harry answered first. "Well, to some extent. I mean, I stayed brave through the Dursleys, so yeah, I'd probably stay brave through anything." 

"Exactly." Draco's face was placid; his eyes practically glowed. "I will always have schemes. But that is far from the limit of my character." 

"Hm." With a nod, Tonks accepted her plate from Rosmerta. "Have you accomplished anything? This group, I mean?" 

Draco nodded. "I regard our greatest accomplishment as a growing level of understanding and trust among those involved." He smirked. "Though I will admit that is hard to quantify. In more concrete measures, we persuaded Professor Dumbledore to establish a mixed-house social area that is open from the end of lessons until dinner on weekdays." 

"It's not much," Harry said. "But there haven't been any problems, and we're hoping he'll expand it." 

"And even as it stands, several members of mixed-house families have expressed their appreciation." Draco regarded her keenly. "What about you?"

"Me?" 

"You would have two sisters, at least. You can't all have been in Hufflepuff!" 

"Two..." After staring at him for an awkward moment, her face cleared. "Oh! The Fairy gift--" 

"'Fey,' Draco said to Harry quickly. "The modern word is 'Fey,' as we said last night.'" 

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Honestly! 'Fairy' is all right." 

"He's Muggle-raised," Draco retorted. "I try not to be imprecise." 

"But "Fairy gift" is unambiguous. Little sparkle Fairies don't give anything." 

"He hadn't even _heard_ of the Fey until last night!" 

"Oh!" Tonks turned to look directly at Harry. "That _is_ confusing, then. But I think 'Fairy' would be clearer to you, anyway, once you knew it could mean two things. It's like in 'fairy tales' -- the fairy godmother at the christening, and sometimes some unpleasant fairy that got left out?" 

"Um..." Harry looked between them, searching for any sign that this was an elaborate joke. "That was real, too?" 

"Exactly," Tonks said, nodding. 

"Though it wasn't always a christening," Draco objected. 

She shrugged. "A naming ceremony of some kind. Though I've often thought it odd that the story of the christening gift survives in Muggle stories when a theme in others of those stories -- the Irish ones, especially -- is that Fairies could not abide holy water, and church bells, and other blessed things." 

Draco frowned thoughtfully. "The Fair Folk are rather particular about their music, are they not? You could probably drive one off with a bell that wasn't perfectly cast." 

"A point!" Tonks giggled. "Ah! Perhaps that's why they favored magical people -- I bet we had the best church bells." 

"Wait!" Harry insisted. "Back up. What is this Fairy gift, or Fey gift, or whatever? The 'sisters' one?" 

"This particular one is to our mothers' maternal line," Draco answered. "If the woman has any children at all, she always has three daughters -- the oldest dark, the youngest fair, the middle one in-between."

"But you don't--" Harry bit his lip. The _Decernenti_. "Right." He grimaced, reaching out a hand to Draco. "Sorry." 

Tonks looked between them, and at Harry's open hand, resting ignored on the table. "Whatever do you-- Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm _so_ sorry! It came up in interrogation, but that's, you know, _work_ , and I've tried not to think about...."

She didn't seem to know how to finish. Draco's face was a mask of indifference. "Understandable," he said blandly. "I remember only the last pregnancy, of course. My mother was distraught afterwards -- perhaps more so because that one would have been her counterpart."

An awkward silence followed. "The blonde, that is," Draco clarified, his voice tight, which helped not at all. Harry finally reached under the table and gripped his thigh. Briefly, Draco brushed his hand, but the muscles of his leg remained tight under Harry's touch. 

"Anyway," Tonks said briskly, "I've heard of the Fairy gift, but despite it, my mother only had me. She thinks it's because I'm a Metamorphmagus; I can be all three daughters -- fair and dark and in-between -- so the gift decided she already had them all." 

Draco released his breath carefully. "A Metamorphmagus," he repeated, almost reverentially. "I had wondered, when I saw what you did with your hair, but I wasn't sure." Frowning, he considered further. "Metamorphmagi are rare, of course, but I've never heard of the Fairy gift failing. You don't think it might rely on a pureblood marriage?"

Tonks stiffened, a small frown line creasing her forehead. "I doubt the Fey would care about such details of human society." 

"But they did favor magical lines, as you said."

"And my father is _magical_."

"Oh, is he?" Draco exclaimed awkwardly. "I hadn't realized." 

Desperate to intervene, Harry cast wildly about for an alternative explanation. Last night, someone had said that technology had killed off the big Fairies. That, perhaps? "Maybe it was proximity to technology," he blurted out. "I mean, it's nearly impossible to keep electronics working at Hogwarts -- Hermione runs her CD player mostly off spells -- to spin it and make it louder and such -- with one tiny bit inside shielded in mica and lead and stuff. If the Fey were as sensitive to that sort of thing as Gilbert said..."

"That's a theory!" Draco brightened at the thought. "That might even dovetail with Aunt Andromeda's one. Perhaps that's _why_ Tonks is a Metamorphmagus; having electrical things around muddled the fairy gift, and _made_ her be all three girls."

Tonks laughed. "Hm," she said, her expression mischievous, and the pink of her hair turned black, blond, and chestnut in stripes. 

"Brilliant!" Harry exclaimed. 

 

They had a mostly pleasant lunch and flooed back (with the brooms) in mid-afternoon, when Draco had to go off to Quidditch practice. This far into the autumn, practice was restricted to weekend days and would soon stop altogether. 

Harry left Tonks at the second floor and continued on up to Gryffindor. While climbing the stairs he remembered how they had left things with Ron. Ron had probably been stewing all this time. Harry hoped it wouldn't destroy their accord when he found out that the summons hadn't been anything to worry about, and Harry had left without telling him. 

The thought of losing Ron for another week or more was hardly to be borne. With each step, Harry felt more weighed down by the thought. Was Ron still upset with him about the game? Even Draco felt he had the right to be, Harry recalled. What had he said? _You fail them at moments when they should have your undivided loyalty._ On the other hand, that was a Slytherin outlook. If Ron thought about it -- really _thought_ \-- would he feel the same? 

 

"Hey," Harry said, stopping next to where Ron was studying -- or at least twirling his quill while looking at a book. 

"Harry!" Relief bloomed on Ron's face as he dropped the quill. "Everything all right, then?"

"Fine," Harry agreed. "I just couldn't get out of lunch, afterwards. Come upstairs for a minute?" 

"'Course," Ron agreed, shoving the book aside and standing up. "Let's go." 

A quick trot up the circular stairs, and they were alone in their dormitory. Harry cast a spell to detect body heat, just to be sure. 

"Lunch?" Ron asked.

"It was Tonks -- Auror Tonks, that is -- the witch who talked to you about Sirius?" 

Ron's quizzical look turned stony. "She was Malfoy's bodyguard at the trial." 

"Right. And she's his cousin -- her mum married a Muggleborn wizard and got disowned, so that was the first time Draco had met her." 

"Was that what she wanted to talk to you about?"

"No. She was here from the Sirius Black investigation -- no repeating this, you realize -- to ask me for a memory and limited Veritaserum testimony. But after that, she invited Draco and me to lunch, and since the headmaster had approved it, it would've looked strange if I hadn't gone." He took a breath. "Sorry I couldn't get word to you earlier." 

After a long, hard look, Ron nodded. "All right. I was worried that you weren't in the Great Hall, but I can see it would look odd to turn her down." Sighing, he sat down on the edge of his bed. "How's your week been?"

"Rough," Harry admitted. "Though I seem to be okay with Hermione now." 

"Wish I was." 

"It'll come." 

"Maybe." Ron leaned back, stretching his upper body back across the bed. His feet remained on the floor. Sometimes, Harry was startled to realize just how tall Ron was. "I know I overreacted," he said to the ceiling, "but I'm still sort of annoyed at you." 

"Yeah," Harry answered, "me too. And annoyed at her -- Mill, I mean. But...." 

"But what?" Ron challenged, sitting up again. "Why are you talking to her?" 

Harry had found the words for this with Draco. "Because people are more important than games."

Brow scrunching, Ron stared at him. "Yeah, but ... people like that?"

"People like what? You don't even know her!" 

Ron flopped back onto the bed, the force of his impact sending a ripple through the drapes. Harry watched him in anxious silence.

"People are more important than games," Ron repeated finally, as if trying out the words.

"Yes." 

"Harry, look -- that's a fine philosophy, I'm sure. I bet Professor Dumbledore would like that one, and Hermione would approve and all, but...."

"But?"

"You're Quidditch captain! There's no place for that flummery on the pitch!"

Harry coughed on his surprise. "Great. You're agreeing with Draco." 

"Draco was upset you fell for it? I don't believe it!"

"No. Draco just thought I _shouldn't_ have fallen for it, and that my house had a right to be upset at me."

"Hm." Ron frowned up at the canopy. "Now I feel like I shouldn't be. Not if I'm going to be agreeing with Malfoy." 

"You were getting along with him before this." 

"I suppose." Ron yawned. "Oh -- if we're going to be friends again, can I borrow your Charms notes?"

 

They spent the rest of the day together, talking and playing games and trying not to fight. Harry told Ron about Tonks being a Metamorphmagus, which it had turned out meant that she could self-transfigure at will. Ron laughed at the story of her turning her nose into a pig snout, but it didn't take him long to note that an Auror who could take on the appearance of anyone she pleased had a lot of options open to her for investigation. After dinner, Hermione joined them by the fire, but she sat on the other side of Harry from Ron and pointedly spoke only to Harry, and it was even more difficult to pretend everything was all right. Harry knew it was his turn to try to fix things. 

 

On Sunday morning, the Gryffindor team had Quidditch practice, but before that, on the way out of breakfast, Harry stopped his head of house. 

"Professor McGonagall? May I speak to you for a moment?" 

The conference took a little longer than Harry had hoped, and when he reached the Quidditch pitch, Cornelia, Jason, and Lindsey were already in the air. "Oi!" Harry called, waving his arms. "Team meeting! Everyone in the north changing room!" 

When they had gathered, Harry stood on raised grid in front of the showers. "I'd like to cede captaincy of the team to Cornelia," he said bluntly. 

"What?" Ron exclaimed, and Ginny protested with a scolding "Harry!" as Damian choked. 

"We're not _that_ upset with you," Lindsey protested. 

"Speak for yourself," Damian snapped. At a glare from Cornelia he looked down. "But even if--"

"Professor McGonagall says I can do it, if the team agrees," Harry said levelly. "And just to be clear, I'm not trying to punish myself, or anything." Best to get that out in front. "I'm embarrassed about falling for the Slytherins' trick, but I'm not ashamed of it. I told Ron that I had decided last year that real life was more important than games, and that's true." He took a quick breath. "But he said that may be a good attitude for life, but not for captaining a Quidditch team, and he's right too. 

"The Quidditch team ought to be the captain's first priority, or at least close to it. It can't be mine. Not this year. Not if I'm going to survive leaving school."

For a moment, the only response was silent stares. Damian recovered first. "So what is first?" he asked. "Malfoy?"

Lindsey and Jason sniggered, but Ron straightened up from the wall as if preparing to fight. 

"No," Harry said. "I'd love it if he was, but defeating Voldemort trumps everything." 

Meeting his eyes, Ron gave a grim nod. "Name your top five, then."

"Defeating Voldemort is tops. Spending time with Draco -- while I still can -- is in there somewhere, but so is helping my godfather, now that there's a chance. Passing my NEWTs, because for the first year since Voldemort returned, I think I might have a chance to survive leaving school, and I haven't been preparing for that." He paused, wondering what to name for his fifth. Perhaps time with Draco had made him too secretive. Hadn't Draco advised he be more honest with Hermione? And really, these were _Gryffindors_. They would appreciate honesty as well, and be more likely to work with him if they got it. "As part of defeating Voldemort," he said slowly, "making friends in all houses, so I have allies everywhere, when the war demands it."

There was silence. Jason's eyes were wide, and Damian's scrunched shut, but it was Ron that Harry couldn't look past. He was regarding Harry with a hard devotion that Harry hadn't seen in him in a while. 

"Well then," Cornelia said, leaning back on her trunk. "I accept. Is there any debate?" 

And that easily, authority passed from him to her. It was one thing off his plate, Harry told himself, and he let the wind bear away his sadness as he flew up to greet the sky. He was free of it, and he was still Seeker, which was really what mattered.

 


	29. The Intruder

 

After practice, Ginny started to ask him about something, but then, catching herself, turned to Cornelia instead. With a nod for them both, Harry left the pitch and cut across the brown grass toward Greenhouse Four. 

"Hi, Harry," Millicent said, as he dropped down into the tunnel. Harry thought she must have heard his approach, because she turned back to the open area right away. 

"Good afternoon!" he returned, following her. "Am I late enough to miss prep?"

She snorted. "Not at all. Short practice?"

Shrugging, he started over to their work area. "Not really. But I resigned as captain, so I didn't have to stay after." 

"Resigned?" Her brows furrowed. "This isn't about me, is it? Because captains have done far dumber things."

"Yeah, but I don't care as much as I should." He shrugged. "Not even enough to snub you, obviously." 

"And they think you ought to do?"

"Of course they think I ought to! Look, don't worry about it, okay? I'm still on the team, and it's not my problem, now." Harry turned away to loosen the cord on the bag of fluxweed. "And while it wasn't penance, it seems to have worked that way. They were far less angry at me today." 

She shook her head. "Gryffindors!"

 

After weeks of making the same potion, the brewing was fairly easy. Once they had set the cauldron aside to cool, Harry turned to Millicent. 

"I have a new approach for glamours."

Her brows came down. "New? But I'm having enough trouble--"

"Right. So it's time to try something else. I was studying a different source, and it had a significantly different approach." The source was the book of cosmetic charms, but there was no way he was going to tell her that. "For one thing, it emphasized that it's easier to change your looks to match how you think of yourself."

She frowned even more at that. "Well, that will be useless! Half the time I can't even _remember_ I'm a girl, Potter! If I look in the mirror when I'm tired, it startles me."

With a flick of his hand, he waved that off. "Fine. So let's start with looking like you _want_ to. When you've got that, we'll backtrack to subterfuge, okay?" 

"Oh." The lines across her brow eased as she considered that. "This will be practice?"

"Right."

"And when I'm better at it, I can do something harder." 

"Like disguising yourself. Exactly!"

 

"Great!" Harry said, at Millicent's eighth attempt. 

"Really?"

"Really. You're doing so much better. The glamour is actually on _you_ , the way it should be."

"What do you mean, on me?"

"I mean -- before it was like you'd put the glamour on _top_ of ... for example, your robes. So when they moved, the real cloth would show through, because the glamour didn't track. The same thing with your arm, last week. I'd see the real thing if you moved fast, as if you'd cast the charm on the air above your skin, rather than on your whole arm."

"I ... I've always thought of it like that. Like a mask." Millicent's militarily short hair gave her a stubborn look, although her voice was querulous 

"Well, no." Harry found himself confused by the idea. He hadn't really thought about the nature of glamours that way before.

"But if it's not transfiguration, it can't be on the arm itself."

"But it can be," Harry protested. He thought he might be getting what she meant. This was the _theory_ part of magic, which he hardly ever bothered with before helping Draco with Transfiguration. "Look, if I cast a Featherlight charm on this rock--" Here, he tossed a rock in the air, casting the spell before catching it-- "it's still a rock, right?" He rapped the stone against the wall, getting a nice, solid clunk. "It's not softer, or less dense." He scraped it, now, leaving a paler line along the stones beside him. "It's not _transfigured_ , but the spell still goes all the way through the--"

Millicent grabbed his arm, panic widening her eyes. Belatedly, he processed the sound from a second earlier -- the scrape of someone opening the trapdoor without raising it far enough. 

"Lift the glamour!" he hissed, fumbling in his bag for his invisibility cloak. He knew he had brought it -- he always brought it -- but he didn't set it on the top anymore. 

The intruder miscalculated the last step from the ladder, landing heavily. Harry pulled out the cloak. He opened it with a snap of his wrists, tangling his wand for a second -- when had he drawn that? His heartbeat pounded. The steps were near the curve. In a quick shake, he tossed the cloak over Millicent and spun about, wand ready. 

He froze. 

"Harry." 

It was Hermione, her face tight. Harry lowered the wand, stepping back out of battle stance. "Hi," he said. 

"Where's Bulstrode?"

"Mill?" he asked, trying to look confused. Hermione stalked towards him. "Why would I know?"

Opening her hand, she held it out to him, and he saw a squat cylinder wrapped about with black hair. It was glowing all over, with a reddish tinge at the edge where it curved nearest him.

"Because she's in this room," Hermione said flatly. "Behind you." 

"It's none of your--"

"Give it up, Potter," Millicent growled, pulling off his cloak. She thrust it at him as she stepped past. "Thanks for trying." 

He watched her shoulders square as she focused down on Hermione. "Don't go carrying tales, Granger. It's none of your affair." 

Lifting her chin, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, really?" She said tightly. "Illicit brewing in a private place? You'll excuse me if I have questions." 

"It's nothing illegal," Harry said quickly. "We're not hurting anyone." 

Millicent shushed him with the wave of one meaty hand. "Ask away, Granger." 

Certainty wavering, Hermione looked between them. "What's the potion?"

"Stage one of a six-month sex-change regimen." 

Millicent spat out the answer like a challenge. Hermione stumbled back. Her eyes widened, and Harry didn't think it was entirely from hearing Millicent use a word like "regimen."

"Harry?" she asked uncertainly. "You wouldn't--" 

Millicent snorted. "Lift the glamour, Harry," she said.

Sighing, he raised his wand. "All right. Look, Hermione...." 

But Hermione was backing off again, looking up as Millicent swelled three inches higher. 

"Oh!" She held her hand over her mouth a moment before forcing it down. "Well, good -- because, Harry, being a girl wouldn't keep Draco."

Harry snorted. "Well, yeah. Since he's _gay._ " 

"And you're not a pureblood." 

"Merlin, Granger!" Millicent exclaimed. "Issues, much?" 

Hermione glared at her. "With all the time Harry spends with Slytherins--" 

"Who aren't all purebloods either." Millicent gestured down her changed body. "One-eighth _troll_ , Granger."

"How does that even happen?" 

Millicent looked at her as if she were dim. "How do you _think_? It's not like anyone does a troll by choice." 

"Oh." Hermione looked horrified. "You mean...."

"Sometimes, the woman survives, right? And sometimes, she's too soft to toss her ugly brute of a baby in the river." Millicent shrugged. "And he might be ... well, just human enough for a woman who values strength over beauty." 

Hermione bit her lip. She looked lost. Harry couldn't blame her, really. For a moment, he considered the possibility that Millicent was actually so brilliantly sly that she had been manipulating him all along, but he shrugged off the thought. She was playing to Hermione's sympathies, yes -- but if she always knew what she was doing, he would not have had to spend so long convincing her that he didn't need to be paid off. 

"Harry?" Hermione said quietly. "Would you go, please?"

"She'll need a glamour."

"Cast it before you leave," Millicent suggested. Her voice was tight, but she voiced no objection to being left with Hermione. After meeting her eyes for a moment, Harry nodded, and he cast the charm. 

"She's my friend," he said to Hermione. "Remember that." 

"I will." 

There was nothing for it but to go. 

 

Harry wanted to wait for them to emerge, but it was cold to be out walking, and he was afraid he would be too conspicuous loitering by the greenhouse. Reluctantly, he returned to Gryffindor, reasoning that Hermione would look for him there. 

He was right. After an agonizing half-hour, at the fifteenth opening of the portrait hole, it was Hermione who climbed inside, and she immediately set course for him. He started to gather his books before she was halfway across the Common Room. 

"My room?" she said tightly.

"Yeah." 

He followed her. 

 

Once the door shut, he expected an immediate confrontation. Instead, she paused with her back almost to him, appearing to look down at the papers and books on her desk. He couldn't help remembering the last time they had stood like this. He had cursed her. _Like this. When she had her back to me. When she trusted me._ The thought did nothing for his anxiety. 

"So," he prompted. To his relief, Hermione turned and looked at him. Her face was tight with worry. 

"So," she returned. "This is what you've been hiding. You're helping him." 

For a moment, Harry couldn't understand what she was talking about. He had been expecting her to ask about Millicent. She _was_ , he realized suddenly, and dismay overcame relief before Harry quite had time to register it. "No." 

"You're not helping?"

"You can't say 'him.'" Harry stepped towards her. "Really, Hermione, you can't. It has to stay a secret."

"I don't see anyone else listening." 

"But you'll mess up! If a few of us know and we all do that in private, _someone_ will mess up." 

Hermione frowned. "Fine," she snapped. "You're helping _her_. Why?" 

"I found out, and it wasn't her fault--"

"You're helping her because she's helpless?"

Harry's skull seemed to press in on his brain. "I'm helping her because she's _brave_!" he snapped. "She's decided what she wants, and she's _doing_ it, even if it's dangerous and a lot of work."

Hermione's face relaxed, the tension draining from it almost as it had with the curse. "Harry," she said softly, and this time, he didn't need to feel guilty. "Is this what you've been hiding?"

"Yes." There were other things, of course, but couldn't regret his surety. This was the biggest one. This was what others cascaded out of. 

"You thought I would tell?"

"I don't know what you'll do!" He stopped, struck by the truth of that. "I don't," he repeated more plaintively. "I ... I've lost it, somehow. Or I can't quite calculate how you've changed. Being out of touch all summer maybe." He turned away, unable to quell the bitter thought that _she_ would do nothing behind his back. "Anyway, that didn't matter. It was her secret, not mine, and she didn't want me to tell you. She's afraid of you, and I can't blame her."

"Afraid?" Hermione sounded perplexed. "Why should Bulstrode be afraid of me?" 

"Because you hate her!" 

"I don't--" Momentary indignation was replaced by a milder tone. "I don't know what to think of her. But I wouldn't have interfered if you'd explained." 

"Believe me, I'd rather have told you!" Harry exclaimed. "We have to brew every other week for hours, and I need fresh supplies every month, and I have to meet her every day to renew her glamour, and tutor her as well, and if I could tell you why I was running off to meet her, or getting yet another package from Fred and George, you'd realize I'm mostly where I should be." 

"Oh." She smiled slightly as she stepped forward to take his hands. "That's why all the packages! Do they know?" 

He was an absolute heel, Harry thought, even as he returned the squeeze of her fingers and gave her assumption tacit approval. "Of course not!" Rolling his eyes let him look away from her. "I've told them I started a dueling club -- most of the things we need are used in healing potions." He cocked his head, giving her a sly glance as he let go. "Have any use for several pints of Murtlap essence?" 

"Oh dear!" The corners of her eyes wrinkled, betraying the smile she covered with one hand. "None, fortunately." Shyly, she glanced down. "I'm sorry I made things so hard on you. I should trust you more." 

Harry froze. It was now or never, he decided. Draco's advice was probably clever, but not necessarily wise. 

"I have a confession." 

The words tumbled from his mouth like sand, making his throat tighten around dry pain. He didn't want to lose her. 

She gazed at him, her dismay growing as she took in his expression. "Harry?"

"I panicked," he said quickly. "After the party in Slytherin. You were pressing me, and ... and I cursed you." 

She stared at him, too shocked for even dismay. 

"To believe me, I mean," he said. "But it went totally wrong, and you believed everything I said for days, until I managed to lift it."

She bit her lip. "Not the Imperius Curse, then."

"No. Um, it's called the Credulity curse. The book I read said the effect was mild, but Draco -- I asked him about it afterwards, when you were happily assuming that I knew more about Charms theory than you do -- said that's if you cast it on someone who distrusts you." His chest felt like he was in the coils of an anaconda. "Which I'd thought you did. And now you will, I suppose." 

"Draco was fine with this?"

"Draco was furious! Don't you have any idea how protective he is of you? And he hates me doing Dark Arts, anyway, and I'd looked this up without him knowing." 

Harry turned away. "I'm going to lose him," he said. "I know that. But I will whatever I do, so I feel I shouldn't worry about it, and then I try _not_ to, and I do things that are utterly stupid."

He hadn't even known he thought that until it came bursting out. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, her chest warm and soft against his back. 

"Harry." Her voice wavered, but didn't ring with the fury she was entitled to. "You know, defiance isn't always the best way to manage your conflicts with people." 

He choked down an indignant denial. Wasn't that what he had been saying? Hadn't he spent the last three months trying to connect to people who didn't agree with him? But going to Snape had been half defiance, just the same.

"Why is so much harder with people I care about?"

"Because you care," she said simply. "Harry, look at me." 

He turned and looked. Her eyes were starting to fill, tears pooling on the rim of the lids. He leaned forward and kissed at the edge of one eye, getting a mild shove in the chest for his trouble, just as he tasted salt. 

"Don't."

"I'm so sorry." 

"But that's not really enough." Lifting her chin, she stepped away, out of reach. "I don't want to get you in trouble, but I don't think I should let it go." 

"Punish me yourself, then." 

With a little huff, she looked away. "Draco helped you." 

"Draco helped me _lift_ it without confronting you. He insisted that I do, though -- lift it, I mean -- whether I could do it secretly or not."

"And he just _happened_ to have researched this curse?" 

Harry took a breath. "His father used it. Often. For bribery. That's why he knew it's more effective if the subject wants to believe you."

Her full lips thinned as she studied him. "I _will_ talk to him." 

"Okay." He steeled himself. "And me?"

"I don't know yet. I'm upset." She looked away. "It's just sinking in."

"It was awful of me, I know. And I promise--"

"Harry, no." Setting her shoulders, she confronted him. "I can't talk about this now. I'm angry, and I'm hurt, and I'm not going to be able to make rational decisions. I certainly don't want to listen to you _promise_. Talk to me tomorrow morning."

He bit back a protest. "Okay. Before breakfast?"

"Yes. Wait in the Common Room; I'll find you." Her eyes were filling again. "Go, Harry, please?"

He fled. 

 

In the Common Room, sunlight was slanting in the windows. He had forgotten it was only afternoon. As always on the short weekend days of winter, the seats by the windows were favored, leaving his favorite comfy chair by the fire available. Rather than settle there, Harry headed back out and down the stairs. Near the Entrance Hall, which he knew was in range of Slytherin, he paused long enough to take out the _Liber Geminus_ and write a quick note. 

_Are you free? I'd like to talk before dinner._

After writing the note, he decided to check the library. Draco wasn't at the study tables, but by the time Harry had finished looking, he had received a reply in the notebook. 

_I'll meet you in the Chamber._

 

When Harry stepped through the open entrance, Draco was already there, rising from the furry plastic sofa. He stalked towards Harry, meeting him halfway. 

"What were you _thinking_?" he demanded.

Harry was taken aback. Hermione had spoken to Draco already? How? He must have been in the library earlier, and have left with her before he came back upstairs. 

"I had to." 

"Had to! You most certainly did _not_."

Draco's face was tight with anger, and Harry fought the urge to look down. He wasn't required to take Draco's advice on his relationships. "Gryffindor honor, you know." The words came out colder than he had intended.

"Gryffindor insanity, you mean!" Draco huffed. "You had an advantageous position -- which you worked at diligently, I might add -- and you threw it away for no _fathomable_ reason." 

"I couldn't just go on like that!" Harry snapped. "She deserved to know." 

Draco stared. "To know what?"

"That I'd cursed her!"

"Hermione?" Draco's settled back on his heels, his eyes narrowing as he studied Harry. His voice slowed to a haughty drawl. "Do tell." 

"What?" 

"Potter." Draco stepped forward, the fingers of his hand making contact with Harry's chest. "Harry. _Darling._ Tell me." 

"Tell you what?"

" _Whom_ did you tell about the curse?"

"Hermione, of course. But if--"

"Are you _mad_?"

"If you didn't _know_ , what were you upset about?" 

Draco set his spread fingers to his forehead. "It was my understanding," he said, the precise words muted by his hand, "that you resigned the Quidditch team captaincy today?"

"Oh, that!" Harry looked away. "Oh. You know, I'd actually forgotten, with worrying about Hermione." 

Draco sighed dramatically. "Dear Merlin! Come sit down and tell me what happened. It was Millicent's impression that she had Hermione's sympathy." 

"Oh, she does!" 

"Then why--" Draco stopped, and for a moment closed his eyes. "No. Let's start this again." 

He pulled Harry down to the sofa, and, after the inevitable bounce settled, into a kiss. At the first touch of their lips, Harry relaxed, and he let himself sink into a long, slow, sensual interlude, his current anxieties fading back in his mind. When they pulled back enough to see each other, he felt more composed than he had been in hours. Perhaps the kiss had done the same for Draco, for his gaze was steady, and the tense lines across his brow had vanished. 

"I love you," he said earnestly. 

"I love you too," Harry whispered. 

Draco smirked. "I know. It makes my own loss of impartiality far more bearable. _Now_ , dearest, how was your day?"

Harry couldn't keep from smiling. "You're manipulating me," he complained, feeling he had to make it clear that he noticed. 

"I am establishing an environment more conducive to communication. My annoyance at your recklessness is genuine, but I should not give it undue prominence. After all, I knew that you were reckless before we were so much as friends, and if I expect you to maintain perspective, I should do so myself." 

"So you just want me to tell you about it?"

"From the beginning, yes." 

"All right." 

Self-consciously, Harry began with his talk with Ron, and then went on to his meeting with the team, and Hermione's intrusion on the brewing session. By the time he got to his confession to Hermione, he was lying with his head in Draco's lap, and Draco was stroking his hair, his eyes half-closed. 

"Mm. I should expect her to come looking for me then?"

Harry's looked up at Draco, surprised that he was still paying attention. He hadn't appeared to be listening. "Yeah."

"I'll plan for that." Draco smiled lazily at him. "And you really believe resigning will improve your standing in Gryffindor?" 

"Yes." 

"All right." Draco curled to kiss his forehead. "I'll trust that you know your own. Now, which would you rather -- supper, or me in bed?'

Suddenly aware of his position in a different light, Harry stretched back, pushing his head against Draco's lap and stretching an arm back over his thigh. "Do you have to ask?" 

 

They left the Chamber of Secrets before dinner was due to end, so Draco could be found by Hermione. To facilitate that, he turned in at the library, whilst Harry continued on to the Gryffindor Common Room. He settled by the fire, and Ron joined him. They talked about Cornelia's development as a Beater, and what Finch-Fletchley had said in Cursebreaking, and the twins' latest tricks. Harry didn't get much done, but he was too happy to mind. When Hermione came in, he looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head and went on to her room. Ron frowned after her. 

"You and Hermione having some sort of drama, mate?"

"Not a bad one, but yeah." Harry shrugged. "My fault, really."

Ron glanced around, and Harry followed suit. No one appeared to be listening to them. 

"Want to go someplace else?" Ron offered, and Harry warmed with affection, despite knowing he couldn't accept. 

"Nah. I think I better stay in."

Ron nodded. "Right."

 

Harry was up early the next morning, with the squirming feeling in his stomach that usually preceded Quidditch matches, not a meeting with a friend. In the Common Room, he saw Sajid, and Davey, and Yolanda -- who gave him a cheery wave, but didn't leave off her conversation with Evie. He was surprised how many people were about at this hour, and even more surprised when Hermione, rather than emerging from her room, came in through the portrait hole. 

He immediately left off his pretense of reading, and followed her into her room, where she was once again facing away from him. When he touched her arm, she shook him off. 

"No, Harry. You may _not_ soothe me." At that, she turned to face him, but the tight disapproval on her face was worthy of Professor McGonagall. "I have a perfect right to be angry." 

Biting his lip, Harry nodded. "I know. But you do know I'm sorry, right? I was immediately afterwards, I just didn't know what to do about it." 

"No."

"I--"

"Yes, you were upset from the game, yes, you hadn't eaten, yes, you'd been drinking -- not that that's in any way an excuse -- but no, you _cannot_ present this a momentary lapse in judgment. You obviously went out of your way to study this curse."

Harry hung his head. "Yes." 

"Have you used it on anyone else?"

His head snapped up at that. "What? No!" 

"Whom had you intended it for?" At his silence, her eyes narrowed. "Who?"

His mouth was dry. "You," he admitted, "and professors and such." 

Rather than exploding, she deflated, nodding. "That's really what you see me as now, isn't it?"

"What?"

"That was Draco's feeling. That since we'd been out of contact, and then I was Head Girl, I'd moved into that sphere of distrust that you reserve for anyone who might claim authority over you."

"I--" Harry stopped. He couldn't deny it. "You do such a good job of it," he said instead.

"So I'm no longer a friend?"

"You are," he insisted. "It's just -- you're so principled, I can't count on it mattering to you." 

"But it's _always_ mattered to me!" she exclaimed, dismayed. "And you were appealing to me as a friend yesterday."

"I don't really have any other options, do I?" he asked bitterly. "It's not like I'll put you under Imperius."

"Why not? You've demonstrated a willingness to suppress my free will with Dark Arts." 

"If I'd realized what it would be like, I never would have tried it!" 

After his explosion, the only sound was their breathing. 

"Good," she said finally. 

"What are you going to do?"

Sighing, she turned more squarely towards him. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's a quandary. You say you didn't know what it would be like-- but Harry, it's _Dark Arts_. That means something, and you should know that."

She leaned back against her desk, hands gripping the edge by her hips. "What do you think I should do?" 

"Me?" Harry hadn't been expecting that. He knew what he wanted her to do -- say everything was forgiven and let it drop -- but that was hardly realistic. He had done something horrible, and he had abused her trust, and really, Draco was right to say he'd stopped treating her as a friend. "I don't know. I don't think you should tell Dumbledore, though. Even if we both manage to keep from mentioning Mill -- which would make me look worse -- she's more likely to be caught if I'm being watched."

She nodded. "Right. Of course, I could take over for you, but I'm not comfortable with her, and I doubt the twins will ship me whatever collection of potion ingredients they're sending to you. However, do you see that I can't let it go, either?"

"You could," Harry argued. "I'm not sure punishments have ever improved my behavior." 

Again, encouragingly, she nodded. 

"I think the Dursleys left you more or less immune. It's a problem with people who were abused as children--"

"I wasn't abused!" 

She sighed. "Let's not get caught up in labels. You would agree that punishment was a random event, which you could not avoid by behaving well?"

"Well, yeah, but it wasn't like they beat me or anything." 

"That doesn't matter. The point is that you never established any association between how you act and how people treat you. Fortunately, you're essentially _nice_ , because you're impossible to rein in by normal means." 

That made sense, although he still wanted to argue with the word "abused." He had noticed, when he was at the Burrow, that if Ron, or the twins, or Ginny was being punished for something, it was always for something that they had actually _done_ , and he would feel sympathetic, but seldom indignant. Unable to admit to even that much, he shrugged. 

"You agree that part is true?"

"I suppose." 

"So, with those two points in mind, what should I do?" 

With an annoyed huff, Harry turned away. There was obviously something he was supposed to come up with here. So far, they had agreed that she shouldn't tell, which was a relief, and that punishment had no effect on him, which he supposed meant she wouldn't drag him in here to write lines. What was she actually trying to accomplish, then? It sounded like she had given up on retribution. He glanced back over his shoulder. 

"What's your goal?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

"Hermione! That interrogation technique is really irritating, do you know that?" 

She actually smirked. "I'm so terribly sorry," she mocked. "Now answer the question." 

"Well, I don't think you'd mind making me feel miserable for a bit, but you don't seem set on it. I suppose you mostly want me to not do it again."

"To do what again?" she prompted.

"Attack you," he answered. "Go around you." From her expression, he obviously wasn't giving the answer she wanted. "Oh. Dark Arts?" That made him feel better, although he knew it probably shouldn't. It was easier to think about than emotional complications. "You should probably make me go see the Quiris with you, then, at the beginning of next term, which will be as soon as I can, if I don't do anything else." 

She nodded. "And regularly thereafter. That was my decision, as well. And I've discussed it with Draco, and we think one of us should always know where you are."

Harry realized he was scowling and tried to school his expression. That plan left him unable to get tutoring from Snape, which Draco had seemed determined to prevent. 

"Between the two of you, I suppose you probably can," he admitted grudgingly. 

"Can, yes," she said grimly. "Now, I want you to admit we have a right to." While he was still trying to absorb that, she took a quick breath. "No. An obligation to, as people who _love you_ , and don't want to see you ruin yourself." 

Quite suddenly, she was crying, and after a moment of ineffectively fluttering his hands near her hair, Harry steeled himself to set his arms around her. It didn't stop the tears, but she laid her head against his shoulder, and if his shirt was getting wet, that at least meant she still felt safe with him this way. 

"I'm fine," he whispered, and she shook her head, pressing it against him. "Really." 

"You'd make such a stunning Dark Lord," she choked out, almost laughing. 

"Don't be silly. I _like_ people far too much." 

"Oh, but that can change. Draco's clear enough on that. He says Professor Snape barely manages it, and he was never that deep in the action, and has been out of it for months." 

Harry couldn't keep from thinking of the way Snape sometimes seemed to like him -- a cool, almost mocking approval, with just a touch of connection. Draco, also, had his father's shifts to remember. Harry wondered suddenly if Draco was afraid of losing him that way. 

Hermione wiped away the tears that hadn't yet soaked into Harry's robe, and blew her nose. "Sorry," she said, shoving the handkerchief back into her pocket. She would have pulled free, but now he didn't want to let her go. 

"It's okay," he said, and she relaxed into him again. For a long time, he listened to her breathing steady. 

"You need to realize," she said finally, "that you can't expect me to trust you when you're being untrustworthy."

"It's occurred to me," he admitted, mostly to her hair. "And I miss telling you everything, really I do."

"Tell me, then." 

He sighed. "I have two other secrets," he said, squeezing her in recompense. "Draco knows both. One's a war thing, though, and you're better off not knowing." 

"And the other?"

"The other one isn't entirely mine. We've been discussing telling you, but there are other people we need to talk to first."

She sighed. "Slytherins?" 

"Some." He could hint, he realized. "Less than half. I certainly need to clear it with Parvati and Padma."

Her eyes shot open as she pushed back from him. "And other people with beaded jewelry?" 

"Maybe," he said coyly. 

"I'd love to know," she confessed, "and I hardly think it can be bad, if you've got all of them involved." From her desk, a soft tone sounded, and her hands flew over her hair and robes. 

"Oh no! It's time to start down to class, and we haven't had breakfast, and my _eyes!_ " Looking in the mirror, she cast a quick charm that cleared the redness from her eyes and made the lids flat -- though they did, Harry noticed, look slightly bruised. Turning quickly, she pulled two Muggle snack bars from a drawer and handed one to him. 

"Here. It's a women's formula, but extra calcium won't hurt you. We need to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts." 

Harry walked very close to her in the hallways, and sat beside her in the classroom. To his great relief, she stayed. 

 


	30. Risks and Poses

 

"Is Hermione happier with you?"

Harry and Millicent were walking down to Hagrid's, so Harry could renew her glamour safely out of sight of the castle. 

"Let's say we've had it out." 

"She sat with you in Defense, though."

"How do you know that?" 

"Draco told me Weasley was glaring at you, and he distracted him by sitting with Longbottom." 

"Ha! Was that what that was about? Half the class was staring, and Neville had to look around and find me in the room before he stopped looking alarmed."

"A good distraction then." Millicent shrugged. "Anyway, Granger was okay with me. She did go on about witches' rights some, but only to make sure I knew I had other options, and liked this one best. I think we understand each other better now -- although maybe not, if she's angry at you."

"Oh, I think you're right," Harry agreed. "She's upset at some things I did to hide it, but I decided to confess and get them over with in context, so it's settling out."

Smiling, Millicent shook her head. "Gryffindors!"

"Exactly. Oh, Draco and I have decided it's time to bring her in on the Uncommon Room."

Millicent stopped walking. For a moment, she stood contemplating the hillside. "I suppose," she said slowly. "Two days ago, I would have said that was mad, but she has more perspective than I'd thought." 

"Yeah. And for the room, she'll be better if we _tell_ her."

"This week?"

"Nah. We need to warn the others, I think."

 

Throughout the day, Harry had been thinking about how to get a few minutes alone with Snape, before seeing him with Draco along. When Draco went up to ask Professor Hecksban a question after their Cursebreaking lesson, he dropped a brief note in Draco's school bag and slipped out. 

As soon as Harry entered his office, Snape snapped out his wand. That would have been alarming as little as a year ago, Harry mused, as he watched the door swing shut and glow around the edges. 

"Draco will probably be down in a minute." 

"Oh?" 

"He doesn't want me with you unsupervised. I had to tell him about the curse, because it was _far_ too effective, to the point where Hermione was adopting my comments on Charms theory as fact, and it was obvious something was terribly wrong." 

Snape's jaw twitched. Harry had the distinct impression that he had almost laughed. 

"Could you not claim ignorance?" 

"No. I wanted to lift it, and needed his help to be subtle about it."

"Ah. I see. And this visit is to inform me of your indiscretion?"

"Well, also--" 

Two sharp raps sounded at the door. 

"Your paramour, I expect," Snape said mockingly. He cast at the door again, and it swung open. 

"Draco. What a pleasant surprise." 

"Good afternoon, Severus. Harry--" a glare at Harry accompanied the name -- "invited me to join him here." 

"And I was just about to ask about something," Harry said sharply, "but it's too private for _that_." He nodded at the open door, but Snape, rather than shutting it again, stood. 

"Perhaps, then, you should join me in my rooms for dinner, rather than imposing upon my office hours. I do have some students who actually appreciate direction, you know."

"Fine with me," Draco said carelessly. "We'll be there at six." 

Snape settled into his chair again, steepling his hands in front of his chin. "Noted," he said tartly. "I suggest you make good use of your _study_ hours."

"Most people consider this free time, you know," Draco shot back. "Come along, Harry." 

 

"'Come along?'" Harry fumed in the corridor. "I'm not sure I even want you there! It's bad enough that _he_ treats me like an infant; there's no reason for you to!" 

"When it comes to his machinations--" Draco stopped. "I'm sorry. You're right. He does it to me as much as to you, you know, and sometimes I just turn around and unload it without thinking. What did I miss?"

"Oh, I told him about the spell working too well, and that I asked for your help, and that you'd be down. I wanted to get that much out privately, but I wasn't there for two minutes before you showed up." 

"And your private matter?" 

Harry glared. "Is too private for a corridor, _obviously_." He didn't add that they were nearly to Slytherin, which made the matter worse.

"And for me?"

"We've already discussed it." 

"Ah." Mollified, Draco moved closer. "Well, then -- would you like to come inside?" 

 

The Slytherin Common Room was surprisingly sedate. Most of the younger kids were near the middle of the room, working at the tables there in groups sorted by year. Fourth years and up were scattered throughout the room. By the fire, Pansy was chatting with the Greengrass girls at one side of the horseshoe arrangement of sofas. On the other side, one sofa in, Gilbert and Linnet were discussing something intently, with the hapless victim of Pansy's Babbling Draught looking on. Nott, to Harry's relief, was nowhere in sight. 

"Harry!" Linnet exclaimed. "Visiting again?" 

Everyone Harry could see looked up at that. Millicent appeared from around the corner, striding towards them.

"Yes, do tell," Gilbert urged. "Is there a reason for this appearance?" 

"Eh." Harry shrugged. "Snape kicked us out of his office, that's all." 

Draco arrayed himself on the middle sofa, near to Linnet, in a picturesque sprawl. "As we're dining with him," he remarked, "it hardly seems worth hiking up to the third floor and back." 

Harry tried not to wince. If Draco felt he could brag about his spellfather's favor, he probably could. In fact, the babbling boy -- Julius? -- was shrinking down slightly, as was Daphne Greengrass. 

"Ah," said Pansy, "but is that good or bad?"

"Let's just say it was an invitation that either of us could have refused."

"Mm." 

Millicent had reached them. Harry settled on the arm of the sofa, one hand on Draco's shoulder, confident that she had his back. "I'm rather looking forward to it, actually. McGonagall tries to keep me from getting too much private time with him. We haven't had a good talk since summer." 

Even from this angle, he could see Draco roll his eyes. Astoria leaned forward. 

"You talked to Professor Snape over the summer?"

Pansy sniffed. "At the trial, I expect." 

"Right. And after that, he visited and terrified my Muggle relatives. That was amusing." At the startled looks from Astoria and Pansy, Harry grinned. Showing the Slytherins that they didn't know him was surprisingly fun. "Remus Lupin came by too. It was by far the best summer I've had at the Dursley's _ever_."

Someone squeaked. Harry thought it might have been Seymour, who had drifted over from somewhere. 

"Did they know he was a werewolf?" he asked, eyes wide.

"They did after I told them." 

A few people laughed nervously. 

"He's a very nice werewolf, really," Harry added, suddenly realizing that Seymour would never have met Remus. He winked. "But there was no reason to tell _them_ that." 

Astoria looked dramatically askance at him. "And I thought you were good to Muggles." 

"If they're good Muggles." 

"And if not, you'll threaten them?"

"It wasn't a threat! It was a snippet of information. I'm not responsible if they draw the wrong conclusions!" 

"Mm." Draco leaned into Harry's arm. "You're incorrigible. We would have taught you so much in Slytherin."

Harry stretched over to give him a brief kiss. It might be worth mentioning his Sorting, if he really wanted these people to look at him differently. "If you'd been nicer," he teased, " you might have had the chance." 

One shoulder lifting, Draco glanced away. "I hadn't really learned 'nice' yet." 

"Why be nice to a Gryffindor?" Pansy said acidly.

"Because they make good allies?" Gilbert suggested blandly. 

"We were talking about _before_ Sorting," Draco said. "But Gilbert is right."

"Even more," Blaise added, "why make enemies of them? A great lot of forceful, driven peers? Isn't that asking for trouble?"

"Still," Linnet protested, "it wouldn't have been in Slytherin." 

"It might have been. It was the Sorting Hat's first choice for me." 

"Rot!" Pansy exclaimed. 

"And Gryffindor was Plan B?" Gilbert asked, ignoring her.

"Once I _begged_ not to be sent here, yeah. It implied I'd do for Ravenclaw--" 

"Ravenclaw!" Draco's scandalized exclamation overlaid at least one other. "You have no Ravenclaw traits whatsoever."

Harry shrugged. "Why would I? I went to Gryffindor, and that grew what they value. But you can't deny I'm madly curious, and the last year with you has definitely made me more studious, so I _am_ capable of it. If my housemates had encouraged _that_ when I was eleven, who knows?"

Millicent snorted. "Granger didn't?" 

"I had Ron to counter her, and he was first. Then there was the team. I wasn't friends with Hermione until after Halloween." 

"Ah." Gilbert nodded. "And at that age, it's all about what one _should_ be, and other boys matter more to that, as I recall." He glanced past Harry, at Draco.

"And Slytherin?" Astoria prodded. Millicent chortled roughly. 

"Don't ask, Tora. Slytherin mixes so oddly with Gryffindor that you don't even see it until later."

"Isn't that the _point_ of Slytherin?" Harry countered. "Why be so obvious?" 

He glared briefly at Millicent as he spoke. Her approach had been anything but subtle. On the other hand, the statement made him wonder if she had imagined some devious plot in his support. 

"The point of Slytherin is success," Pansy countered.

"Which you're too busy turning your nose up to see!" 

 Draco pressed his fingertips warningly into Harry's leg. 

"I'll tell you what I see, Potter," Pansy sneered. "That _you_ are not long for this world," 

Harry came to his feet. "Done with that." 

"Harry," Draco soothed, edging over, and Harry, with a glare at Pansy, thumped down into the cleared space.

"As for subtlety," Pansy persisted, "I have a question about your account of the events of our second year."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

" _Yes_ ," Pansy corrected, her nose wrinkling. "It is widely said that the Weasley girl opened the Chamber of Secrets herself, under the influence of a Dark artifact." Her voice grew drier. " _Some_ even connect that to Mr. Malfoy's dismissal from the board. Yet you said "the person who opened the Chamber" was there, and later referred to this person as 'he.'"

Harry considered this. She was right about Ginny's involvement being widely believed, and it was certainly known to the MLE, so he could probably accept that. He couldn't entirely remember what he had revealed at the party, but he knew he hadn't lied. "Look," he said, "there are reasons the details were kept quiet. It's true that Ginny was _used_ to open the Chamber -- everyone seems to know that -- but it takes a Parselmouth to actually do it, and she isn't one."

The group went deathly quiet. After a moment Draco sighed and shook his head. "Darling...."

"What?" 

"No matter. Go on with your story." 

"All right. She'd been given a diary -- one that an upper-year student named Tom Riddle had many years ago left a piece of himself in. He used what she wrote in it to pull life out of her, and to control her."

"So it was like the Imperius curse imbedded in a book?" Gilbert asked. "I didn't think you could do that."

Harry shook his head. " _More_ than the Imperius curse, because he made her speak Parseltongue, and that would be like making a Squib do magic. Really, she didn't open the door -- _he_ did it with her body."

"True possession," Gilbert breathed, with rather more appreciation than Harry liked. 

"Right. But by the time I got there, he'd taken enough of her life to start forming his old body -- the one he had at sixteen, when he wrote the diary."

"But you had a wand."

"Er... He took it, actually, while I was trying to wake Ginny. I didn't understand that he was an enemy."

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed. "You never told me that! I assumed he was powerless. How did you ever survive?"

"Oh, you know how Voldemort is. He couldn't just curse me; he wanted drama. What good is a basilisk if you don't use it?" 

Harsh whispers underlaid nervous laughter. 

"I thought this boy was a 'Tom Riddle,'" Pansy said acidly. 

"That's what he was called then. Voldemort was an ana-- al-- whatever you call those things where you rearrange the letters."

"Anagram?"

"Right, that! He showed me his name like this." Harry wrote on the hearth in front of the Slytherin fireplace: 

  


TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

  


"Then he rearranged the letters -- I don't know how to do that -- to say 'I am Lord Voldemort'. Told me he wouldn't use the name of his Muggle father." 

"How dare you!" Pansy's voice was shrill and clear over a rumble of other comments. The glowing words bothered Harry more. He had put Voldemort's true name on a place that he was trying to keep from him. Now that he saw it, it felt sickeningly like an invitation. 

"Eh." Blaise shrugged. "It makes more sense the longer I think about it. The turd left his mother, you said?"

Nodding, Harry erased the glowing name with rough snaps of his wand. "Yeah. Who died. He didn't come to school knowing any of that, though, because he was Muggle-raised, like me." 

Draco raised his eyebrows. "By evil relatives?" 

Harry snorted. "No. In an orphanage. So he could have _imagined_ he was a pureblood, and he probably did when he was sorted into Slytherin. By the time he was sixteen, though, he knew his father had been a Muggle, because he told me that in the Chamber of Secrets, and he knew -- or believed, anyway -- that he was a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin, because he told me that then too. And at some point, he tracked down his father and killed him, because 'Voldemort' told me _that_ when I was fourteen and bound to his father's gravestone." 

"He might have been lying," Gilbert pointed out. 

"If he was lying, why not make it all more what he wanted?" Harry objected. "Why tell me about the Muggle father at all?"

" _Clearly_ , you've made this all up," Daphne Greengrass said, tossing her hair. "All things you were told in front of no other witnesses. If you're sly, there was a Tom Riddle of the background you claim, but he bears no relation to the Dark Lord."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not the only one who knows that connection," he said. "Dumbledore remembers him. He was the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor when Riddle was a student."

With an almost ladylike sniff, Pansy lifted her small nose. "And the headmaster, of course, is _entirely_ impartial when it comes to the Dark Lord." 

"So," Gilbert said, doodling what looked like a crest with his wand, "do we have to worry about you?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Exactly how dangerous are powerful half-bloods with unhappy, magic-less childhoods? Have _you_ killed anyone?" 

Harry bit his lip. 

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Draco volunteered, but Gilbert waved the answer off. 

"That hardly counts. It had to be done." 

Harry felt his hand clench in the soft pile of the sofa arm, and forced it to relax. For a moment, he brushed the fabric under his fingers. "I let the Dursleys live," he said. "I even left their house before the time I thought the wards would fail, so Death Eaters wouldn't kill them." 

Draco slid an arm around him supportively, but kept his voice light. 

"Harry's not always trustworthy, but he takes no pleasure in harming others. I don't think we're in any danger of him becoming particularly vicious, barring long-term exposure to Dark curses."

Harry didn't think anyone else took notice of the little glance Draco gave him at the end, but it made his gut twist. Draco _did_ seem to be afraid of that, as he had feared from Hermione's account. Considering his father, Harry couldn't blame him, but he didn't think it was warranted.

Blaise snorted. "Hasn't he been through a lot of that already? There's that mark on his forehead to start with. In my opinion, if he's not a sociopath yet, he won't become one." 

Hugh came half out of his seat, but then -- slowly -- sat back down. Pansy was glaring at Blaise. Harry thought no one quite wanted to call Blaise out on the implied characterization of Voldemort, because that would make it explicit. 

"I still think you're making it all up," Daphne said, but lightly. "It's quite a good story, though."

With a little sniff, Gilbert stood. "And with that," he said, "I find it time to take my leave. I told Gloria that I'd help her with Transfiguration." He looked down at Draco, and then at Harry. "Have the two of you rested for long enough to tackle the stairs?" 

"Rested?" Harry asked incredulously. "Do you know how far up Gryffindor is? And my room is on the top floor of the tower." As Gilbert smirked back, he realized that he may have been giving them an excuse to change their minds about staying. He had probably done as much as he could here, and the longer he stayed, the more likely that Nott would show up. He looked at Draco, who was surveying his housemates in a bored manner. 

"I _had_ thought to stay, but perhaps it would not be sufficiently entertaining for two hours."

"You should come," Gilbert urged. "You must realize that your absences are noted. Your own housemates may understand, but the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs fear losing your patronage." 

"Well." Slowly, Draco came to his feet. "We shall oblige them, then." 

Harry couldn't believe Gilbert meant it. This was a further attempt to extract them gracefully. The strange thought lingered, though, as they climbed the stairs, Gilbert and Draco chatting lightly with practiced nonchalance. Could other students -- even younger ones -- really consider him a _patron_? 

 

"We'll be having whatever they're serving in the Great Hall," Professor Snape said briskly as he ushered them into his sitting room. "I haven't had time to cook, of course, except for pudding." 

"You cook?" 

Snape sniffed at Harry's astonishment. "Why shouldn't I? It's similar to brewing potions, except with fewer Flobberworms."

"Flobberworms?" 

"Well, they are an excellent thickener, and not at all toxic, if properly kept." 

Perhaps to cover Harry's shudder, Draco stepped in. "I had beef stew at the Three Broomsticks, last week," he told Snape, as he settled into an armchair, neatly crossing his legs above the knee. "But it wasn't nearly as good as yours." 

Snape accepted the compliment with a nod. "Incidentally, the next time you go to Hogsmeade on the headmaster's wink, I would appreciate word _before_ you leave the grounds." 

"She's my cousin. Even were she not, I am an adult." 

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I did not say your decision was incorrect, nor indicate that I might attempt to override it. I said that I _would appreciate word_." 

"To do what?"

"Open my Floo, at the least. Perhaps to linger nearby, in case of trouble." 

Draco looked down. Harry saw his jaw clench and loosen. 

"That would not have been unwelcome," he allowed.

"Not at all," Harry contributed. "She's brilliant, but I'm not sure how she is as a fighter." 

"Good, I hope, to be assigned as a bodyguard," Draco said dryly. 

"Adequate for most matters," Snape said. "I am better." 

"You know her?" Harry asked. 

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I have seen Auror Tonks in action. Let us leave it at that." 

"Ah." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Um--" 

He was rescued from potentially impolitic speculations by the arrival of dinner. Two House Elves popped into the room, a table between them. As soon as its feet touched the ground, three place settings and a number of serving platters and bowls appeared on its surface. The elves vanished, returned with chairs, bowed to Professor Snape, and vanished again, all with bewildering speed. 

The food may have been what others were eating in the Great Hall, but dinner felt very different. The first oddity was that there was a carafe of wine, from which Snape poured a glass for each of them. More unsettling was the decorum of it. Professor Snape's manners were sharply meticulous, and Draco's thoughtlessly gracious, and Harry knew he had to behave more politely than he was accustomed to. However, when he asked for a platter of beef that he could easily have reached, his forbearance was rewarded by an approving nod from Draco, and he settled down more comfortably.

"So, Mr. Potter," Snape said, when they had finished their soup, and he was slicing across a slab of pink beef, "I believe we have a conversation to resume." 

"Right." 

"Perhaps someone could fill me in as to what _had_ been discussed?" Draco sounded almost bored, but his eyes glittered through pale lashes as he looked across the table at Harry. 

"Of course," Snape answered, setting knife and fork down on the verge of his plate. "Harry informed me that the Credulity curse was overly effective on Miss Granger, and that he had told you of his use of it, so that he might request your assistance in countering the matter discreetly."

Harry saw the slight tightening at the edge of Draco's eye at the incomplete account. Perhaps Snape had missed it. He had been cutting his meat, again, this slice exactly parallel to the first. 

"I do think you might have warned him," Draco said. 

"Warned him?" 

"That the spell is far more effective if the victim wants to trust."

Snape cast off the criticism with a one-shoulder shrug. " _More_ effective is not usually a problem. I'd think he would enjoy her being agreeable." 

"Look," Harry said, "We were studying Charms theory, and I said, 'Oh, I thought that worked this other way,' and she got all flustered about how she could _possibly_ have got it wrong, and went searching through her notes trying to find where she'd messed up. I hadn't even claimed to be right." 

Snape lowered a turnip-laden fork. "Ah. Yes, that could present problems." 

"Among other things," Draco said sharply, "it was obvious to an uninformed observer that something was wrong with her. Had you hoped to get Harry in trouble?"

"Of course not! I've never heard of that level of efficacy." 

"He is extremely powerful, and, in some, inspires devotion. If you truly do not wish him harm, I suggest fuller disclosure in the future." 

Harry knew his face must be red, but he didn't have to worry about it. Draco and Snape were locked eye to eye, too caught up in haughty dignity to notice his lack of it. 

"You may, yourself, think too much of him." 

"So you believe this all weakness on her part?" Draco mocked. "Hermione Granger is insecure in her research conclusions?" 

Barbed as that was, it relieved the tension. Snape snorted. "Hardly. However, I seldom hear Mr. Potter so lauded in the staff room."

"Well, that was what I wanted to ask about," Harry broke in. "Power. I only stand out in Defense against the Dark Arts, I think."

"And now Cursebreaking," Draco added.

"But in Dark Arts itself -- well, the few spells I've done -- everything just bursts out. Draco thought I might be drawing power from..." Harry hesitated, gesturing at his scar. Snape hated him saying Voldemort's name. He remembered how he had felt looking at the name he had drawn in the Slytherin Common Room, and wondered if _hearing_ it was like that for Snape. "You know. Lord Riddle." _To give him his Muggle name._

With a slight cough, Snape put down his fork. He sat even straighter. "Ah." He looked Harry up and down, his dark eyes glittering in the shifting light of the candles on the table. "Yes. That is how you survived the Dark Lord, initially, as I understand it. You can seize the power he sends out." 

"You _know_ that? Who told you?"

"Professor Dumbledore informed a select group of ... allies, after your parents' deaths. He felt it was critical information, and should not vanish should he die." 

"Oh." Slowly, Harry absorbed that. He wondered if Snape was discounting Remus or didn't know he had been involved. "Well, that's okay. Simpler -- though I'd like to know who else knows." 

"Beyond me? Professor McGonagall. Remus Lupin. Alastor Moody, which is what I _thought_ to be the point behind him demonstrating the Unforgivables to half the student body." Snape stopped. "There are a few others that I do not believe you have met." His eyes narrowed. "I will consider whom I might reveal to you." 

Harry's jaw tightened. "My business can be shared with a lot of strangers, but I can't know about them?"

"In this situation, I am afraid this is rather more than _your_ business. It matters to the war, which concerns many people." 

"But it's not fair! I didn't find out until last year, and you and Remus and Professor McGonagall knew all this time?" 

"Not until last year?" Frowning, Snape cocked his head. "I would have expected you to be informed after the debacle of your fourth year."

"It certainly would have been helpful!"

"Yes. Quite." Snape cleared his throat. "We should discuss your allies and advantages at another time, I think. We may have been concentrating too much on your enemies. For now.... Yes, Draco's theory seems plausible."

"Dumbledore made it sound as if I could use Volde--" Harry cut off at a gesture from Snape. "Riddle's power only against him, and only if it was channeled at me first."

"He would like you to believe those limitations, would he not?" Snape returned smugly. "But no. An attack would give you the _most_ power to work with, but there must be some remaining in that scar, to keep it immutable -- either that, or it is linked to him and constantly replenished, providing more still. And once you wrest power to yourself, you may use it as you wish. As _his_ strength is in Dark Arts, however, it may flow far more readily into such spells, and to obtain enough power to destroy him, you might need a direct attack."

Draco leaned back, crossing his arms over his narrow chest. "Is that why you're teaching him Dark Arts?"

With a sharp nod, Snape reached for his wine. "Precisely. If his best chance requires the manipulation of Dark energies, surely it is prudent that he acquire some experience beforehand." 

"I see your point, but I don't think he needs any further experience." 

"No? I scarcely expect four or five spells to provide a solid foundation in the Dark Arts."

"Nonetheless, he is adept." 

"Draco." Snape met Draco's eyes over the table. "You need not fear losing him. I am being cautious." 

"Rot! You didn't even show him how to ground! I had to, after--"

Snape sat back. "After?" he asked mockingly. 

"We were brewing. For the divination." 

"And you had him handle Dark objects."

"Well, I can't! I have the Quiris!" 

"It was bugbear claws," Harry volunteered. "And I _am_ here, you know." 

"No one is preventing you from joining the conversation."

"Right." That put Harry on the spot. He plowed on. "So, um, I think I shouldn't learn any more Dark Arts now. I thought maybe we could go back to that wandless magic idea?" 

Snape's mouth curled in a sneer. "Far safer." 

"And obviously useful," Harry shot back, not to be baited. 

Mildly, Snape nodded. "Quite true. Perhaps we could meet bi-weekly? Short sessions might remain unnoticed." 

"Sure. I'm free next Sunday afternoon." 

"That works for me also." 

"I'm coming along," Draco said.

"I do not recall inviting you." 

"Really? I thought I was welcome in your rooms 'at any time.'"

"That does not include imposing upon another's meeting with me." 

"I don't object," Harry said quickly, winning a scowl from Snape. 

"Very well. Be it on your head, then." 

"I'll need him to cover for me, anyway." 

 

It took some time for the tense atmosphere in the room to fade, but by the time dinner was over, the three of them were talking comfortably. Snape mentioned a recent visit with Narcissa -- in the neutral territory of a London restaurant -- and said that she claimed to be making progress in securing the grounds, and Draco replied that he would like to go home for a few days of the Christmas holiday, but let Snape sidestep the issue. They had a second, smaller glass of wine apiece, finishing the carafe, and Harry left the two of them talking about Malfoy Manor, and arrived at Gryffindor feeling content with their plans. 

Ron nabbed him just inside the portrait hole. 

"We need to talk." 

For a moment, Harry froze. 

"About Hermione?"

"Right." 

"All right." Sighing, Harry looked around. Hermione didn't seem to be present, and it wasn't quite too late to go out again. He turned around, and in tense silence, walked down to the Uncommon Room with Ron. 

"Talk," Ron demanded, as soon as the door closed behind them. Harry glanced down the tunnel. From here, you couldn't see if anyone was in the main chamber, and voices tended to carry. 

"Sofas," he countered, and led the way in. 

The room was empty. Harry dropped into a comfortable chair, but Ron remained standing, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Sit down, will you?" Harry complained. He hadn't been expecting Hermione to tell Ron about the curse, as shaky as their relationship had been recently. 

"Why?"

"Because you'll have a load of questions, I suppose." 

With a snort, Ron lowered himself to balance on the wide arm of the sofa. He still loomed over Harry, but Harry settled obstinately deeper into his chair. 

"Go on, then. What do you want to know?" 

Suddenly deflating, Ron slid down onto the sofa and kicked sullenly at the table in front of it. "How serious it is, I suppose. Honestly, I thought I was overreacting until you brought me down here." 

"Huh?" Harry blinked at him. "She didn't tell you--? Wait."

"For you to come up with a good story?" Ron asked sarcastically.

"I don't think we're having the same conversation. _What_ did you want to talk to me about?"

"Uh-uh. You first." 

Harry hesitated. If Ron really didn't know what was going on, he didn't really have to tell him he had cursed Hermione, did he? "Oh," he said finally, "I was messing about a bit with Dark Arts, and she found out, and we fought, and then we made up." 

"Made up? Is that what you call following her around making eyes at her?" 

"I have not been making eyes at her!" 

"I don't think you saw a bloody thing Flitwick did in Charms." 

"It was a bad fight, okay? I was worried. But I'm not interested in her! At all!" 

"She's beautiful!" Ron counted angrily. 

"Right, but that doesn't make me interested." 

"So you're totally gay."

"I am not gay!"

"Really?" interrupted a third voice. Harry twisted to see Seamus and Parvati, and felt his face flood red. "I'll have to tell Draco," Seamus continued. 

"I meant that I'm _bi_ ," Harry snapped. 

"If you were bi, you'd be interested," Ron persisted. 

"That's ridiculous! I'm not interested in every girl in the world. Or boy, for that matter." 

"And the ones you'll say are beautiful?"

"Still no!" Harry's brow wrinkled as he stared at Ron. "Are you?"

"Yeah. Being--"

"Then drop it with her!"

"What?"

"If any pretty girl will do, stop messing up the three of us!" 

"I'm not messing us up!"

"Um ... Should we go?" 

Seamus and Parvati were still there, Seamus watching with a distinct smirk, and Parvati looking anxious.

"Whatever you want," Ron said, before Harry could answer, and he turned back to Harry. "So. You were fooling around with Dark Arts."

"Gah!" Harry shoved his hands back through his hair. "I brought you down here because that part was _private_ , Ron!" 

"Yet you didn't hear us come in."

"Yes," Parvati added sharply. "With over a dozen people allowed here, it's hardly 'private.'" 

"Well, we were off on something else, by then." 

"Parvati!"

"A dozen? Really?"

"I don't see any harm in telling him that," Parvati said crossly. "We know he's been invited, so he probably knows who we all are anyway." She ran a finger coyly under the strand of glass beads she was wearing around her neck, and Seamus laughed. 

"I think it's spreading," Ron said. "Even Neville's wearing those." 

Seamus sniggered. "Why so he is!"

"Dark blue, as I recall."

"But not yellow." 

"Neville?" Ron's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"I don't see why everyone is so surprised," Parvati remarked, finally sitting down on an empty settee and crossing her legs neatly at the knee. "He's generally amiable."

"I'd think the Slytherins would eat him alive!" 

"It's a friendly environment. We only eat pastries."

"And fruit. And crackers and cheese...." 

"Does everyone in Gryffindor know about this?"

"Well, Hermione doesn't yet," Harry said. "I'm planning on inviting her next week, but I thought I should talk to people first."

"You are?" Seamus asked, joining Parvati. 

"Yeah. Draco thinks it's time too." 

"Well, good." 

"I don't know...." Ron said doubtfully, but Seamus leaned forward to slap him on the knee. 

"Right, you don't! Come this Friday and see what it's like." 

"Are there any, um, requirements?" Ron asked, frowning at Harry's beads. 

"Two minor secrecy pacts," Harry said. "That's it. You don't even have to wear beads." 

"Though he does if he plays," Parvati said.

"Well, of course!" 

"Plays what?"

"Oh no!" Seamus scolded. "That's as much as we tell outsiders. Show up on Friday, or wonder until you do." 

Worrying at the inside of his lip, Ron looked around the room -- at the furniture, and the shelves, and the tumbles of ivy -- and slowly nodded. "Maybe I will." Looking askance at Harry, he added, " _Someone_ should make sure it's safe for Hermione." 

 


	31. Variations

 

"Hermione?" Padma exclaimed, dismayed. 

"And about time!" Ginny countered. 

"But Parvati says...." Padma looked at her sister, who waved the objection off. 

"I admit we don't have much in common, but I hardly think it will be a disaster. She's been more flexible since she discovered boys." Glancing at Ron, she giggled. "Well, _a_ boy. Krum didn't help much." 

"I think it's a fine idea," Blaise stated firmly, although he seemed to be looking at Ron more than Padma.

Cornelia rolled her eyes. "Maybe."

Draco straightened, quietly attracting attention. "She is non-negotiable. Harry and I are certain that she will be much less of a danger if she is invited, rather than finding out." 

"And she _will_ find out," Harry added, prompting nods from most of the Gryffindors and an amused snort from Ron. "Ginny, you won't be able to have wine." He looked around at the group. "Who else isn't of age?"

"Don't look at me!" Cornelia said cheerfully. "I turned seventeen last month." 

"And I will be by next term," Gilbert said.

"Not till May." Linnet shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me anyway." She lifted her pumpkin juice in emphasis.

"My birthday's in May too," Luna remarked, beaming at Linnet. "It's such a lovely time of year to plant wish-cones, isn't it?"

Linnet ran her fingers through her hair, looking down it. "Oh, I haven't done that for years." 

"Children's thing," Draco whispered to Harry. 

"It takes such a lot of time to count the scales," Gilbert said sarcastically, glaring at Luna.

She didn't seem to notice. "Oh, but that's easy! It's a complication that they're curviserial, but if you count up one spiral and it's odd, then it's just a matter of the number of spirals, of course."

Padma seemed to understand this. At least, she cocked her head to the side in thought. "Are they symmetrical?"

"Mm-hn," Luna answered. "I remember when I discovered that. It was comforting to realize that beautiful things were mathematical too." Her already dreamy gaze grew more distant. "Arithmancy can be very dangerous," she said sadly. 

Draco cleared his throat. "So," he said firmly. "Everyone is to be on their best behavior next week." 

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "But I'd requested catering for an orgy," he whinged. 

Ginny giggled. "Oh, I was thinking a duel between Draco and my brother!" 

"We can play the game though, right?" Parvati asked.

"Of course!" 

"Good. I'd love to get a few answers out of her." 

Harry thought Parvati's smile was on the malicious side. Draco apparently did as well, for he immediately jumped in. 

"No one is required to play, of course."

"We've never said that." 

"I thought it was understood." 

"If she won't play, she should leave."

"Hang on," Harry interrupted. "I don't think she'll have any objection to it. Why argue it out now?" 

"Are we playing tonight?" Neville asked. He'd been present for only one game, and had a paltry four beads. Still, Harry suspected he was trying to derail the conflict, rather than actually caring.

"Hm." Parvati considered. "Perhaps not, if we're playing next week. I don't want to run out of good conditions." 

"I have an alternative -- as a suggestion," Sophia said. "Let's do a challenge instead."

"You mean a dare?" Millicent's nose wrinkled. "I thought we'd agreed that was stupid." 

"Not a dare," Sophia said. "Here's my example. Everyone needs to say something they admire about a member of the house that you have most disparaged. The best answers should demonstrate a trait of that house in some way."

"Do we gain anything if it does?" Gilbert asked.

"Hm. Control over bead design, as long as the house is somehow represented?"

"If not, questioner calls?" 

"The beads should be different," Parvati said. "I don't want them confused." 

"What are you talking about?" Ron protested. "I'm new here, you know." 

"It's a game," Ginny said. "Someone says they've done something--"

"Whether they have or not--"

"And anyone who _has_ done it takes a bead."

"Caller of the round chooses the color."

Ron eyed Draco's long strand, the loop of which now extended halfway down his tie, suspiciously. "So he's done everything."

Draco flicked his wrist dismissively. "Hardly. I've never had a conversation with a snake, for example."

"Really? I thought you'd do that all the time."

"The literal animal was specified, Weasley," Draco answered, rolling his eyes. "And we're getting distracted. What if I make this set cylindrical? 

"Oo! Lovely!" Linnet said happily, and the Patil girls nodded. 

"Very well. Do we have an empty bottle?"

"Just a green one." 

"No matter. Harry's good with color." 

Harry was aware of Ron's puzzled look as Cornelia tossed him an empty wine bottle. He could have dealt with the color while it was whole, as she expected, but he decided it would be better practice to combine it with Draco's shaping, so he just passed it to Draco, who flipped it over in his hand with a hard slapping sound. 

"Yours!" he cried, and this time the more senior members of the group flinched as it left his grip. The bottle arced towards the stone wall. Ron dove to intercept it. Cornelia tackled him. There were thumps and shouts, but Harry managed to get his shield between the shattering glass and Ron's outstretched hands. He couldn't do anything to keep Ron's face from smashing into the floor.

"Whad the fug was _thad_?" 

"How we shatter the glass, Weasley. _Do_ take into consideration that the group has survived without you thus far." 

"And if you'd got past where I was casting, you would have been really hurt," Harry snapped, even as he tumbled to the floor to help. Ginny was doing the same on Ron's other side. "So no being angry at Cornelia."

"You thingh thi' bloody floor di'n' _hurd_?" 

"Oh, don't be a baby," Ginny scolded. "Hands away from your nose for a moment, and I'll fix it up." 

With three quick charms, she healed his nose and closed bloody scrapes on his cheek and elbow, and he let out a shaky breath, his body relaxing. "You're enjoying this," he grumbled.

"Immensely. Now what do you say, dear brother?"

Ron made a face. "Thanks, I suppose." At her scowl, he moved warily back. "No, _really_. You're good at that." 

"Why does it not surprise me that sixth-year Gryffindors are adept at healing charms?" Gilbert commented wryly.

"I think it might be more the six brothers."

"Or Quidditch. We play at home a lot." 

"In any case...." Draco said loudly, apparently wanting the attention of the others before making the beads. Sophia had already passed over a knitting needle, and Harry lengthened it with slow strokes as Draco spun a cluster of glass shards into a long cylinder. Their audience faded from his awareness as Draco took the lengthened knitting needle. While he pushed it into the glass, Harry passed his wand and a hand down the length of it, an inch or two above the molten substance, draining the color from it. 

"That's really rather obscene," Seamus commented, and Harry twitched. He'd come quite close to burning himself, he thought, and a shard of pale green now cut down one side of the cylinder.

" _Working_ , Finnigan," Draco growled, as he dropped beads off the needle with a pinching motion. They landed, cold and solid, in the bowl, which was still half-full of round beads. "Are we doing a full round?"

"Maybe. It wouldn't hurt to make more, if you have the energy." 

This time, Harry was expecting a comment, and did not react to Seamus saying "Harry's got a rather steady stroke, hasn't he?" 

"Shut it, Seamus," Ron snarled. 

" _Wait_ ," Harry said. After reaching the end of the cylinder -- without flaws this time -- he rolled his shoulders and sat back. "It's all right, Ron."

"He can talk like that about you?" Ron demanded.

"Since it wasn't actually hostile, yes." Harry shot Seamus a look. "Though next time you're going for a reaction, you could think about the consequences if you get it. Molten glass is _hot_ , you know."

Cornelia snorted. "Not as hot as it would be if magic wasn't involved, or you would have burned yourself anyway."

"How do you know?" Draco asked curiously. 

"I've seen glassblowers at the fair." 

"Oh, do Muggles have fairs?" For some reason, Draco got very wide-eyed at the idea. "Harry, would you take me to one? If we kill You-Know-Who, I mean?" 

After a moment's shocked silence, a few people began to laugh. 

"I suppose," Harry said, bewildered. "I've never been to one myself. Do wizards have fairs?"

"Of course! There's a famous one in Hogsmeade every summer, at the end of August." 

"Well, we'll go to one of each, then." 

"I say!" Gilbert choked, halting his laughter with strained gasps. "You can't mean it!" 

"What? Muggles aren't _that_ dangerous." 

"Killing the Dark Lord?" 

'Well, someone has to!" Harry shrugged. "And I won't have much of a life until I do."

Millicent smirked at Gilbert. "He's the logical candidate, you realize." 

Gilbert turned on Ron. "And your lot will just let him try?"

" _Let_ him?" Ron sniffed. "'My lot,' as you say, will _help_ , of course." 

"As will I." Draco took a sip of his wine. "As, similarly, my future depends upon His defeat."

Millicent chuckled and leaned back in her chair, setting her feet on the table, legs crossed at the ankles. "Ah, desperation! It makes Slytherins act like Gryffindors, and Gryffindors like Slytherins." 

Harry shot her a look, narrowly biting back the observation that she'd know.

"Which brings us to my challenge," Sophia said. "Are we ready?" 

"Maybe the new people need instructions?"

"We'll just make sure they're not first." Sophia straightened in her chair. "I'll start. I've admired Ginny Weasley since last year, when I saw her walk up to Smith in the corridor, when he was trying to browbeat Sarah into going to Hogsmeade with him _again_ , and tell him that he was a brainless wanker who couldn't see when a girl didn't like him." She reached for the bowl, her face down. "For her level-headed boldness, Ginny Weasley." Taking a bead, she touched it with her wand, turning it the dark ginger of Ginny's hair and edging it with gold, and only as she finished, glanced almost apologetically at the astonished Ginny. 

"Thanks," Ginny said awkwardly. 

Luna, who was next to Sophia, stood. "I need to move further down, I think." She walked behind the next sofa, and, going around it, studied the narrow space between Harry and Ron. Harry shifted a little closer to Draco to create more space, but Ron moved over into it. With a shrug, Luna sat on the arm of the sofa. 

"I don't quite understand this yet, you see," she said solemnly.

"Okay," Harry replied, hoping Ron wouldn't say anything awkward. Padma, now next to Sophia, cleared her throat. 

"Hm. I'm not sure I'm ready yet, either."

"Really!" huffed Parvati, beside her. "I know you don't admire me, but you must know enough of my housemates to pick one."

"But it ought to be a Slytherin," Padma reminded her, gently rolling the green and silver bead in her bracelet. "And I could say Blaise, but only because he's clever with theory, which is a Ravenclaw trait." 

"But it's not," Blaise said.

"Oh?"

"I mean, yes, cleverness is Ravenclaw, but I'm studious because it's a means to distinguish myself. I don't have a pedigree or a fortune, or even relatives who can get me favors. I need to impress with what I can _do_." 

"Oh!" Padma said quietly. "Well, all right, then." She cleared her throat. "For his notable achievement in Charms theory, including the idea that led us to mending the second glow-line, I admire Blaise Zabini." She took one of the cylindrical beads and turned it dark green, then wrapped it with a double spiral of bright metallics -- silver for one strand and bronze for the other.

Parvati didn't hesitate. "I admire Draco," she said, "because he plans social events with style and apparent ease. I wouldn't have thought of that as Slytherin a few months ago, but I can see that it is, now."

"How so?" Neville asked. 

"Well, we're all here talking to each other, aren't we? So he has more information, and more people he can ask if he needs something." 

Gilbert snorted. "As long as it's not killing Voldemort." 

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Just background support services."

"Really." 

"Any help you give us, I will deny unless we win."

Gilbert looked away, ignoring a slap to his arm from Linnet. "That's a bit much to think about, on the spot."

"Take your time." 

Parvati turned her bead silver and got Padma's help adorning it with green ivy to match that cascading down the wall behind her. While they were working on that, Seamus cleared his throat. "Well, it may be that I am supposed to admire Draco as well, but I expect praising his pretty little bum won't do it." He grinned over at Draco's scowl. "I like you well enough, of course, but admiration... I don't give that easily." 

"Seamus...." Harry warned. 

"I was originally thinking I had to choose from the Slytherins here, because I don't know any others well enough, but then I realized that's not true. I admire my Aunt Sorcha, who can break up a fight or send a sobbing drunkard home from m'uncle's pub with a few well chosen words. They say she's got a touch of the Sight, but I think she just listens as she works, and doesn't waste what she hears on gossip." 

Seamus turned his bead Kelly green, with a line of silver like a sword. 

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't admire Slytherins." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "None?"

"None."

"What about Albert Hughbright?"

Ron's face scrunched up. "The Chaser?" 

"Right. Chudley Canons is your side, correct?"

"Yeah." Ron's nose wrinkled. "Hughbright was a Slytherin?"

"Exactly. If you look in the trophy room, you can see his plaque for 'most goals scored in the 86-87 season.' Do you admire him?"

Ron scowled. "That might explain last week's game against Tutshill. Someone probably bought him off." 

Draco's little huff was drown out by Harry's exclamation of "Ron!" 

"I don't want to play this." 

"Hm." Padma studied him. "Should we let him off?"

"I originally would have said yes," Sophia answered. "But he's being a poor sport." 

"I think a penalty," Harry contributed. 

"Wait a moment." To Harry's surprise, it was Linnet who objected. "I agree that his attitude is offensive, but we didn't really provide a good explanation for the new people; we told them to observe. So he never agreed to play."

"He didn't say no when his turn started either," Blaise objected. 

"Actually, he did, although rudely." Linnet lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. She had taken off her school robes, as she often did at gatherings, and now crossed her legs neatly at the knee, under the soft drape of a fawn velvet riding skirt. "I say we allow it, but next week he must say -- _politely_ \-- at the beginning of his turn whether he's playing or not." 

Seamus snorted. "That's letting him off lightly, I'd say, but the Slytherins get to call it." 

"What?" Ron exclaimed, staring at him. Seamus ignored him. Draco nodded at Linnet, and Blaise at Draco. When they looked at Millicent, she glanced at Harry. He didn't think he had signaled anything, but with a sigh, she set her heavy boots on the floor, rolled her shoulders back, and nodded. "This time." 

"Agreed," Gilbert said crisply. "He gets away with it. However, if anyone else wishes to abstain, they must say so now." 

There were a series of glances and shakes of heads. Luna raised her hand timidly, just up by her ear. 

"May I ask a question now?" At Sophia's nod, she sat up straight. "You said, 'of the House you have most disparaged.' I don't think I have."

Sophia's cheeks dimpled in a rare smile. "I don't believe you have either. For you ... hm. Something you admire about someone who is utterly unlike you." 

Luna beamed. "Oh, that's easy! I admire Professor Snape's creative precision, although I think it's a pity that he mostly uses it to insult people." 

A few people choked; others laughed. "Creative precision?" Gilbert repeated. 

"It doesn't sound like it would make sense, does it?"

"Yet I know exactly what you mean." 

"Oh good! Do I get a bead?" 

As Luna happily embellished her bead (jet black with a silver cauldron and green smoke that wavered more than the light could account for), Harry looked around at the people in the room. Draco inclined his head to the side, indicating, he guessed, that it was all right to pick someone else. 

"Honestly, there's something I admire about everyone here," he said. Little noises became obvious by their absence. "Um, for a lot of you, that's _why_ you're here. For Slytherins -- picking Draco would be easy, I guess. Maybe too easy? He knows all about how clever he is, so I want to say something he doesn't notice. He knows how to make people comfortable -- or uncomfortable. He's been a lot more pleasant since he started working more on the first -- and more productive, I think." Draco was pink. Harry shot him a quick smile, and continued. "But I also admire the way Blaise can articulate his ambition and lay out a path, and how Millicent can choose what she wants and keep her focus on that. I didn't really understand the good points of ambition until I started spending time with them." He looked past the second cluster of Gryffindors to the Slytherin sixth years. "I don't know Gilbert and Linnet as well, but I've been impressed by Gilbert's ability to adjust his opinions when he gets new information, and I noticed Linnet's grace in dealing with our dispute in play -- it wasn't _fair_ , precisely, but it didn't do any harm, and it let us move on." 

Ducking his head, he looked at Sophia. "Was that cheating?" 

She smirked. "Not precisely, but I think you get multiple beads, rather than one. Shall we say three?" 

"I want to design one!" Linnet exclaimed

"Two should match." 

"Agreed. Harry, pass three beads to Linnet and Draco." 

Linnet began working on her bead immediately, but Draco, who was next in the game, just rolled his two between his fingers, looking down at the clear glass. After a few seconds of this, he looked up. 

"Hermione," he said firmly. "Not that I don't admire you, darling," he added with a sidelong look at Harry, "but I am going to choose _one_ person, and because she is less like me, Hermione."

"She is stunningly bright," Blaise agreed, and Draco tsked. 

"Yes, but that would be a Ravenclaw trait. No, I admire her for being principled enough to assist someone she did not like, and bold enough to break the rules that she needed to do so effectively."

 

Play continued around the room with Blaise praising Hermione's impetuous curiosity, and Millicent Cornelia's attack instinct in Quidditch. Cornelia praised Gilbert for being a good older brother, taking a penalty because she didn't link it to Slytherin traits, and belatedly bringing to Harry's notice that no one had challenged "attack instinct" as a Gryffindor trait. Ginny praised Draco for his daring on a broom, taking a penalty that left her with a moving snake spiraling about her bead, and Neville, reddening, said he had no idea and should have dropped out. After Draco, with a smirk that Harry remembered from previous years, threatened him with a double-sized, animated exploding cauldron bead, he gulped and chose Blaise. "Because even when he doesn't know the answer in lessons, he manages to turn it around and show off that he knows _something_." Harry had never noticed that, but Blaise preened. 

 

Ron was quiet as he, Harry, and Neville climbed the stairs to Gryffindor. On the second landing, Harry nudged him. 

"What did you think?"

"What? Oh." Ron twisted his hand nervously around his bare wrist. "Not bad, I suppose. That Slytherin girl was decent, even." He frowned. "I'll have to play next week, I reckon, or I'll look like a prat." 

"Probably," Harry agreed, as tactfully as he could manage. 

Ron's eyes darted to Neville and then away. 

"Maybe we should get together on Sunday?" he asked casually. 

He was talking about divination, Harry thought. He looked at Ron's tense expression, reconsidered, and then reached the same conclusion again. 

"Okay," he said. "After dinner, maybe?"

"Not earlier?"

"I have study meetings with professors." 

"Malfoy's got you sucking up to them, you mean."

"Ron," Harry warned.

"Oh, all right. You wouldn't have done that a year ago, though." 

Harry didn't point out that he had; his studies with Snape were the last thing he wanted to remind Ron of. 

 

Draco had declared Saturday a study day, so Harry spent it with Ron and Hermione. He kept hoping to get her away to invite her to the Uncommon Room, but Ron stuck with them, even the few afternoon hours that it was warm enough for a short bout of flying, and Harry didn't want to broach the subject in front of him. If Ron started ranting about Slytherins, it wouldn't help her fear that the mix would be dangerous. By evening, he had decided that it might be best to bring Draco in on the invitation. 

Sunday started badly, with the Daily Prophet reporting two separate attacks on mixed families -- two orphans, one widow, six dead, Harry noted. He forced himself to read through the article, noticing only when he came to the details of the first one, in West Sussex, that he had previously skimmed to the totals. The realization flooded him with guilt, although he could not say why. In Yorkshire, one of the attackers had been killed and subsequently identified as a 'well-respected' local politician. Harry stomach churned over quote after quote about how the man had been a 'traditionalist,' but it was unbelievable that he would participate in criminal activity. He ate almost nothing, and in their morning practical session with Professor McGonagall, he twice cracked the wood of the door Draco was working while trying to transfigure wooden hinges to bronze. McGonagall, herself subdued, gently counseled him to rein in his temper, and set them to repeating earlier exercises on scrap,until sheer tedium had Harry's magic under control. They got to lunch just in time for Harry to gulp down some watery swedes and potatoes -- he couldn't contemplate the meat -- and then he and Draco were on their way to Snape's rooms. 

"Did Professor Snape ever send you that book he promised?" Draco asked, as they started down the second flight of stairs into the dungeons. 

"Yeah. I found in on my bed on Friday."

"Have you started it?" 

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right." 

"You had all of yesterday!"

Draco had stopped short at the corridor. Harry tugged on his arm to get him moving again. "And I read the first three chapters, all right? Just like he said. But it might as well have been Gobbledygook, for all the sense it made." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Draco complained, although he didn't stop this time. 

"You said Saturday was study time."

"That _is_ studying!"

"Not official studying." 

"Official--" Draco stopped himself. "I won't say that the distinction is not important. It is. However, in this particular case, the unofficial study is of high value." 

To Harry's relief, they had arrived at the archway that marked the entrance to Snape's rooms. Before Draco could say more, Harry revealed the door and rapped the gargoyle knocker smartly against its plate. The gargoyle stretched out its wings and bared its fangs, but didn't bite. It knew Harry by now. 

"Inside," Snape spat out, by way of greeting. When the door closed behind them he relaxed only slightly. "Good. You are on time, at least. Your wand, Mr. Potter?" 

Harry jerked back, staring at his professor's outstretched hand. "What?"

"You are here to learn wandless magic," Snape explained, with mock patience. "If your wand is on your person, you will use it. Therefore, you will give it to me."

"What are you going to do with it?" Harry demanded, and Snape scowled. 

"Merely put it out of the way. Do you trust me, or do you not, Potter?" 

Slowly, Harry drew his wand, but when Snape reached for it, stepped back. 

"I do, mostly," he claimed. "It just feels weird." He couldn't do it, he decided, although he could see Snape was right that he couldn't have the wand on him. Not drawing it would be even harder than giving it up. Looking around, he spotted the wide stone mantel, and in two steps was at it. 

"There," he said, placing the wand on the smooth stone. It took an act of will to step back, but it didn't feel as wrong as placing his wand in Snape's hand. "Now it's out of the way." 

Snape rolled his eyes. "A bit paranoid, perhaps?"

"I have reason to be!"

"True." Snape sneered as he answered. "However, you express it at the most unsuitable times. Did you read the chapters that I assigned?"

"Of course I did!" Harry exclaimed indignantly. He felt a bit guilty when the words were out, especially as Draco, behind Snape, was pinching the bridge of his nose. As he was wondering whether to explain that the text hadn't made any sense to him, Snape turned and gestured at the table. A broad buff owl feather topped a short stack of books. 

"Wingardium Leviosa. The feather only." 

Harry stared. Just like that? He bit back a refusal, and turned his glare on the feather. The soft fluff sat placidly on top of _Gaelic Moths_. He tried to envision it rising into the air. Nothing happened. 

"We are working on _wandless_ magic, Mr. Potter, not wandless and non-verbal." 

Harry gritted his teeth. " _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_ ," he spat out, focusing all his fury at Snape on the feather. His rage didn't shoot out of him as it had with the Bone Burning curse. Nothing seemed to happen at all. He tried again, until his head ached with pressure. The pale fronds may have trembled, or there might have been a slight draft across the table. Snape hissed.

"You said you did the reading, Mr. Potter."

"I DID do it!" 

"Then _apply_ it."

"How can I apply something that doesn't make any _sense_? You're supposed to--"

Snape lunged towards him, the way he used to when they fought, but did not catch at Harry's shoulders, which had tensed against the expected attack. "Skimming your eyes over the words is _not_ completing the reading."

"I didn't just skim! I said I read it, and I read it."

"Then why are not applying the principle of imitative kinesthetics?"

"Because that doesn't make any sense!"

With a hiss, Snape drew himself up to his full height. It wasn't as intimidating as it had been when Harry was little. 

"You cannot proceed immediately to advanced levels in _everything_ , Potter. You may have natural talent in frivolities such as Quidditch, but--"

"Spellfather," Draco reproved, cutting off the rant. He smiled tightly at Harry. "It means you should gesture as if you were holding your wand." 

"Oh." His face burning, Harry turned to the feather again, but Snape interrupted with a derisive snort. 

"Do you think _that_ is studying? Continuing on when you don't know a word?"

"I looked it up!" Harry protested hotly. "I checked Hermione's dictionary, and "kinesthetics" is the ability to know where your arms and legs are. It didn't help." 

"I did not ask you to care for someone with a broken back, Potter." Harry hated the way Snape could look at him like he was some sort of vermin. When it had happened every day, he had learned to ignore it, but now it hurt, like weeding in June, before he formed new calluses. "In any case," Snape continued, "that would be _passive_ imitative kinesthetics, whereas the text clearly prescribed _active_."

Harry wanted to storm out, but Draco smiled encouragingly at him and mimed holding a wand. Grimly, Harry turned and tried curling his fingers around nothing and holding that nothing pointing towards the feather, like a child playing pretend. _A child who can't even find a stick!_ he thought furiously. He felt ridiculous. When he spoke the incantation, the feather didn't so much as quiver. 

"Again," Snape said, sounding mollified. "Swish and flick, and mind your diction." 

Nothing happened the second time, or the third, or the fourth. Harry whirled on the professor. 

"This is _ridiculous_."

"If you had bothered to study--"

"I DID!"

"Harry!" 

Harry twisted. Draco was holding an empty wine bottle in one hand. He flipped it end over end, catching it by the neck. Snape sniffed. 

"Whatever you may be trying to prove, Draco, I would appreciate--"

"Yours!" 

A flash of green arced towards the wall. 

" _Protego_ _!_ "

A shield spell shimmered in the air. In his arm, Harry could feel the tingle of a recent rush of magic. Belatedly, he noticed that his hand had shot out, quite without any conscious thought on his part, in a flat blocking gesture that bore no resemblance to either how he would hold a wand or to the wand motion for the spell. To one side, he could see Snape, his own wand drawn but not yet brought to bear, apparently just as frozen by shock as Harry was. 

"Well!" Draco's voice was bright. He crossed the room, the motion somehow releasing Harry from the frozen pose of his casting. "Severus," he said, as he scooped up Harry's wand, "I realize that you have particular methods of instruction that you prefer. In this case, however, I recommend that you adapt your technique to better suit your pupil." His hand wrapped around Harry's, pulling him towards the door. "Good day, spellfather." 

 

Harry was shaking. "Chamber," Draco said, and led him down in silence. In the stone hall, he pulled him past their fuzzy plastic sofa and around the screen to their bed. Leaning against it, he drew Harry close, letting him hide his face. For several minutes the only sounds were slow breathing and the occasional drip of water. 

"I'm not used to him being like that anymore," Harry confessed.

"He knew Mr. Hardnack, at least. Possibly some of the Yorkshire _victims_ as well; he's mentioned the village before." 

"Oh." Harry felt the shaky pull of his own inhalation. "I wasn't much better, I suppose." 

"Not much," Draco agreed. "Still, it's idiotic of him to think that you will learn anything that way." 

"And throwing a wine bottle at the wall?"

Draco's mouth quirked. "I have found trusting your reflexes _most_ reliable," he said, lifting his nose.

"Where did you get it, anyway?"

"I transfigured an ink pot." He smirked. "Severus will have quite the mess to clean up if he causes it to revert. It was red ink, and nearly full." Smiling, he fell back on the mattress. "And here we are with most of the afternoon free." 

Harry's pulse quickened. They were often alone, but seldom for more than a couple of hours. He dropped down into a long, hard kiss, moving into the rub of Draco's body. 

"Want to try..." He lost his voice. 

"Oh?" Draco prompted, amused. 

"You know. Fucking."

"Oh." Draco's voice sounded rather small, suddenly, and the rough circles of his groin stilled. 

"Don't you want to?" Harry asked anxiously. 

"I...." Draco laughed slightly. "I didn't get out again after the trial, you know. I've been waiting to look it up."

Harry couldn't quite hold back a laugh. "Look it up? You need to _study_ first?" 

"Well, I've just-- _I_ haven't, and I know _you_ haven't, so...." 

"I'm sure people have figured it out without instructions for thousands of years." 

"But I know there can be difficulties." Draco hunched down. "From one of Father's books, although I was barely old enough to understand, at the time, and didn't read past that. And if you were to injure me _in there_...." 

"You can try on me, okay? I'll tell you if it hurts."

"But what if it's messy?"

"Clean up afterwards."

"I can't manage that."

"I expect you deal with 'that' at least once a day."

"Harry! Must you be so vulgar?"

"Considering the subject's rather vulgar, it seems more likely to communicate something." At Draco's distressed look, he relented. "Are there spells to, um, clean inside?"

Draco winced. "Almost certainly. But _I don't know any_. That's why I need to find some sort of instruction--"

"Alright, then." Harry stood up. "Let's go." 

"We can't go visiting while school's in session! And what would I tell her?"

"To the _library_ , Draco." 

Draco, from where he was sitting on the bed, finally recovered enough composure to glare. "Oh?" he asked sweetly. "Do you think the school library has sex manuals?" 

"I think they have medical texts. And if people can get injured internally there, then there must be Healers' spells to clean it."

Draco bit his lip. "Perhaps. But must we now?" 

Relenting, Harry sat down with him. "Of course not. I don't mean to be pushy; I've just expected you'd want to go faster."

One of Draco's shoulders lifted. "I don't like not knowing what I'm doing, I suppose. I enjoy being the expert." 

"I'd really assumed you had, honestly." 

Draco laughed. "No! Although Blaise would've, I expect, if I'd suggested it." He slid a hand behind Harry's neck. "Now. We are free until dinner, are we not?"

"Yes. Do we bring Ron down here, or use the Uncommon Room again?" 

"Let's think about it." Draco leaned forward. "Later," he whispered, and his lips brushed Harry's skin. 

 

In the end, they couldn't bring themselves to reveal the new entrance to the Chamber to Ron, especially as anyone could use it. Instead, Draco changed the password to the Uncommon Room, and Harry brought Ron up from the Great Hall. 

"Now," Harry said, lifting the heavy bag of Sickles up in front of Ron. "Remember that you can't give this back."

Ron rubbed his hair uneasily. "But-- Er, can I give it away?"

"Doubtful," Draco said from behind Harry. As before, Ron and Harry were on cushions on either side of the coffee table. Draco set the potion for the divination between them and moved to the end of the table, where he settled on his heels.

"But I'll already have done the divination."

"Which doesn't mean the consequences cannot still move against you if you invalidate the pact. No. Spend it on presents, if you must, but the silver itself should leave your possession only in a transaction from which you gain." 

Ron nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. Harry thought he was earnestly trying to remain regretful. "All right. I can do that."

Harry started to work the cords of the sack open, but Draco leaned forward and lifted a hand to signal a pause. "Wait. Weasley, are you confident you can configure a bowl from the coins?"

"I'm not that bad at transfiguration." 

"No, but you're not entirely reliable at it either, and the potion is neither easy nor safe to brew. I wouldn't want it wasted. I can form the bowl for you if you command me to do so, but it must be a command."

That was odd. Harry wondered if he could make sense of that if he knew more Dark Arts theory. Ron didn't appear to consider the matter at all. His eyes narrowed. "Much as I'd enjoy ordering you around, I'll do it myself." 

"Just get it done," Draco warned. "Go ahead, Harry." 

Harry, meeting Ron's eyes, nodded. "Here is your payment," he said, spilling out the bag of Sickles. Ron swallowed hard. Harry bit back a remark that it wouldn't look like so much in gold -- thinking first that it might interfere with the flow of the divination, and belatedly that to Ron, it would still. The value of the pile was over forty Galleons. 

Collecting himself, Ron nodded and drew his wand. He didn't make the bowl smoothly -- it looked like a Bludger first, and then a tureen, and only after that became recognizably a bowl. Slowly, however, it flattened to his preferred shape, with black streaks and blots varying the hard flow of silver. Harry saw Draco relax in relief, although he thought the settling of his shoulders was too subtle for Ron to notice. 

Ron raised his head. Like the silver of the bowl, his expression had smoothed out, the earlier creases and juts of anger and insecurity gone. 

"I have made the vessel," he said, as if reading from the notes they had given him. Slowly, he reached for the flask Draco had left, moving it closer. Afterwards, he looked up, smiling. Harry could almost feel the bugbear claws reaching for him under those white teeth. 

"Your arm," Draco prompted, not seeing that it was unnecessary. 

Harry reached out his arm. The knife Ron wielded appeared bright, but Harry knew what it was, really -- a black claw eager to rip blood from his veins. The red liquid shone as it cascaded down to cover the bright silver and swirls of tarnish alike. 

He twitched as arms wrapped around him, dragging him away, and something unyielding was thrust in his mouth. A sound barked out once, twice, and he swallowed something thick, belatedly realizing that had been the sound -- the panicked word "Swallow!" 

"Harry? Harry?" 

He got that one faster. It was Draco holding him, one hand still stroking the front of his throat. His arm had been healed. Ron had poured the potion and was staring deep into the divining liquid. It now looked more like currant jelly than blood, but Harry knew better than to focus on it. 

"I'm good," Harry whispered, and Draco's arms relaxed around him. 

"The question," he choked out. "Unless...."

Harry was already sitting up. Ron had set the blooded potion to lips and mouth without being reminded. Harry tried to ignore the macabre sight and asked the question he and Draco had settled on. 

"Which of Voldemort's weaknesses makes him most vulnerable to me?"

Behind him, Draco whimpered and curled down, his head pressing into Harry's back. Harry could not help him. Ron's bloodied lips had parted, and pale lashes dipped to his cheeks as his gaze fell to the ruby contents of the bowl, black writhing like worms beneath. 

"You," he said. " _You_. Seeker, playmate, brother, leader. It's all you. _He_ knows, like you never do. He locked himself in armor against death, but now it's all about you. Innocent destroyer, like the rising tide. Embrace your bond, your chains, your curse -- you can change, but _he_ cannot. Change allows death."

Harry shuddered. Did he need to die then? Could he only win for others by losing for himself? Ron lifted his head, sanity flooding down his bloody face.

"Harry?" he asked, his voice shaky. "You okay? So much...." he gestured at the bowl. 

"Blood replenisher," Harry replied. That had to have been what he swallowed. Draco shuddered behind him. "Um...."

"You don't get it," Ron said, shaking his head. " _She_ didn't get it. It's not a matter of separating -- his weakness _is_ you. I don't see anything else that could get him."

"Can you not be more specific, Weasley?" Draco asked, uncurling enough to speak past Harry's back. He had attempted a mocking drawl, but it shook. 

 "I'm trying to explain," Rob insisted. He rubbed his eyes, smearing blood into the lashes and across the cheeks. "It's _you_ ," he said to Harry. "And it wasn't that I was seeing stuff _about_ you, I was seeing you as his ... well, bane, I guess, but I still don't know _how_."

"And I need to die," Harry said.

Ron looked puzzled. "I don't think so. Did I say that?" 

"Not exactly." Letting out a long breath, Draco shifted away from Harry. "I'll need a Pensieve to record it properly. That may need to wait until I can get home -- I think the headmaster may control the only one at school. Would someone clear away that blood potion please? I'm going to be ill."

Quickly, Harry vanished the potion. Ron sniggered. 

"Can't take seeing a little blood?" 

"You try watching what you drained from Harry. It was _pouring_ out, and I seemed to be the only one who noticed." 

"I did a little," Harry said. "It was shiny." He shivered. 

"I believe you have proved my point."

"I suppose. I didn't even notice you healing me. That was worse than last time." 

"We'd better not try it again, then." 

"I thought I'd been helpful," Ron said plaintively.

"I don't know." Draco gestured to a curl of parchment on the floor beside him. "I'd planned to take notes, but I could barely sit up." 

"So, we're taking December off?" 

"I think so." Draco looked away. "We all need study time anyway, I expect." 

Ron scrubbed at his face again. This time he noticed the blood on his hands, and his eyes widened. Harry tried a cleaning charm, but couldn't manage the gesture. Draco had to step in and do it. 

"Let's get both of you back to your tower," he said, standing and offering Harry a hand up. "If you're late, Hermione will have questions, I'm sure." 

 

Harry was feeling normal, if tired, by the time they reached the seventh floor, but Ron was still occasionally losing focus. Harry was afraid he might come across as a bit high, and was grateful that Draco came with them to the tower entrance, helping him camouflage Ron's distance with conversation. In Gryffindor, he decided, he would try to get Ron up to their dormitory immediately, or if they were stopped on the way through the Common Room, assume control of the conversation. Ron would seem normal enough in the background. 

Coming through the portrait hole, Ron lost his balance and staggered. 

"Ron!" 

Hermione was over to them before Harry had got through himself. Her eyes narrowed as she looked over at him. "You're out late."

"Not too!" Ron said. 

"We had a lot to catch up on," Harry added quickly. 

"Could have done that without Malfoy there," Ron objected, not seeming to notice Hermione's frown. After a glance at Harry, she set a hand on Ron's shoulder and when he turned naturally towards her, smiled and rose up on her toes. They kissed. 

Harry felt his heart sink. She had done it as a diagnostic, he was sure, and she wouldn't taste anything, so it might help allay her suspicions, but it meant she was treating Ron as a boyfriend again. After their last fight, and her talk with Harry, she hadn't been, and he had allowed himself to hope it would end quietly.

Their kiss had deepened. Harry moved to the sofas and sat down, his arms crossed over his chest. They followed a minute or two after. Catching Harry's glare, Hermione giggled nervously, prompting Ron to squeeze her closer. 

"None of that, mate," he said to Harry. "If I can put up with you kissing Malfoy, who's not just a man, but a git who's gone after me again and again, you can't frown about me and a girl you like."

Harry didn't argue, and Hermione didn't protest, and Hermione and Ron settled down into a cuddle punctuated by occasional kisses. Harry kept his eyes on his books and consoled himself with the thought that every minute they didn't speak brought Ron closer to normal. 

 


	32. Moments of Truth

 

Hermione followed Harry down the corridor. Two turns away from the official mixed-house room, she glanced back, frowning thoughtfully. "You said we're meeting Draco?" _Where_ was left unasked. 

"Yeah," Harry answered. "Not in the usual place, though." 

Most likely, no one was listening to them. There were no portraits nearby, and they were between turns in the corridor. Still, he didn't want to say too much, and she didn't push. 

As they rounded the last corner, coming in sight of the mirror, she glanced over at him, but to her credit, still said nothing. On the other side of the glass, she added her wandlight to his. Harry closed the door. Draco, he reflected, was either not here yet, or was waiting dramatically in the dark. 

"Watch this," he said. 

He tapped the wall with his wand, and light flowed like a stream down the strip of charmed stone, extending out of sight around the curve. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Was that always here?"

"Yes, exactly. There's one on the other wall, too." Smiling at her enthusiasm, Harry pointed out the smoother rock on the dark wall. "Just tap it with your wand." 

She did, beaming as it doubled their light. "Wonderful! Do you know how it's done?" 

"Not exactly, but you can ask the people who repaired that side. When I found it -- by tripping -- only the wall on the right worked. Apparently, something about the cave-in had disrupted the charm on the left, and it needed to be recast." 

"People?"

"Right, well...." Harry sighed. "Look, I'll explain, but come in all the way first. Draco should be waiting for us, but if not, he'll be along in a minute." 

"Here," Draco called from around the curve. 

Harry tried to catch Hermione's expression as he led her into the room, but he wasn't at a good angle for that. Draco, however, had positioned himself perfectly, standing facing the corridor, attractively posed before the fall of ivy that covered the heaped rubble. He smiled in greeting as Hermione stumbled to a halt.

"Hermione," he said, stepping forward. "Welcome to the Uncommon Room." 

She laughed. "Your new clubhouse?" 

"Hm. No, not exactly." 

"Oh, I'd say yes," Harry put in. "It's just a much larger club." 

Draco shot Harry a look as he closed the distance and took Hermione's hand. "It's too long a discussion to have whilst standing on a stone floor. Now come and sit down, and we'll tell you all about it." As if it was the most natural thing in the world, he drew her hand to the inside of his arm. To Harry's astonishment, she actually let him lead her over to the white sofa as if he were escorting her into a ball. 

"I...." she stammered as she sat down on the upholstered seat. "This is lovely!"

Harry grinned. "You can thank Draco for that," he said cheerfully, as he swung himself into the nearest chair, hooking his legs over one arm. "But thank me for some of the furniture being actually comfortable." 

Frowning thoughtfully, she looked around at the multiple sofas and chairs. "How many people is it intended for?" 

"Quite a few. The official mixed house social space is inadequate, as you said yourself--"

"-- so we've been inviting people here." Harry said eagerly. "Chosen carefully, as it's a secret."

"Yes, we wouldn't want any trouble. But we trust your discretion, of course."

"I see. And two of your guests fixed the light strip?"

"Not guests," Harry objected. "It's everyone's room, not just ours. But yeah, the light strip had a bunch of people looking at it." 

"We cannot provide names," Draco warned. "We have a minor privacy charm, just to prevent making such disclosures accidentally, and there is agreement among us that invitees are not provided with that information in advance."

"I see. Does this group include all houses?" 

Harry snorted. "Do we have Hufflepuffs, you mean? One, so far, but we're trying." 

"Another two have been invited," Draco added, "but the process is necessarily slower. We simply don't know them. There are far more Slytherins and Gryffindors than Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs." 

"If you want specifics," Harry added, "you'll have to join us, and come by when everyone's here." 

"But--" She smiled slightly and lifted her chin. "If this was the shared secret you told me about before, I think I already know who is involved." 

"Oh, you might not notice all of them," Harry said. Draco shot him a look, and Harry was glad he had explained that conversation to him previously. 

"We have at least one member who has avoided adornment, as well," Draco drawled. 

"Member?" Hermione pounced on the term, and Draco looked somewhat uncomfortable. 

" _Attendee_ , if you would rather. No, _member_ is a better word. But we are expanding the pool as quickly as is reasonable." 

Hermione sat forward on the sofa. "I've only seen older students." 

Harry nodded. "We thought we should start that way. Because it _is_ a secret, and not monitored, you know -- people should be able to take care of themselves. It's all gone very well, though, so we might consider lower years after Christmas." 

Hermione's eyes narrowed. Harry saw her right hand twitch and wondered if she wanted to be taking notes. "Are there set hours, or do people come by whenever they please?"

"People can come here at any time. We have one group meeting a week, though, and nearly everyone shows up for that."

"Which brings us to our reason for inviting you here." Draco straightened, turning even more towards her. "Hermione. We hereby invite you to attend the next such meeting, and become part of the Uncommon Room." 

"Oh." Hermione sat back. Harry, conscious that it was better not to push her, let her think. "I -- I imagine-- Well, like the official space, this should be accepting?" 

Harry was still puzzling that out when Draco nodded. 

"It is mixed not only by house, but by blood status and class, as well." 

Harry hadn't thought about class. Actually, he corrected himself, he'd had Draco tone down some expressions of that, so he supposed he had, in some background way, but he hadn't noticed that he had. He wondered how else they were different. "Mixed by academic inclination," he contributed.

"Sexual preference." 

"Flying skills."

"Fashion sense." 

"Taste in chocolate." 

Hermione was giggling. When they paused, she reached out and hooked Harry's bracelet. "Would I get answers on this? If I came, I mean?" 

"Perhaps. You'd at least have a general idea." 

"When is this meeting?"

"When am I always missing?" 

"Hm." Her cheeks dimpled at the challenge. "Well. If you haven't been lying to me about a project with our head of house, it would have to be Friday or Saturday evening."

"Excellent deduction!" Draco exclaimed. "It's Friday. Saturday is mine, although sometimes academics disrupt that."

"Friday's best," Harry agreed. "No one's panicking about Monday's assignments yet." 

Hermione looked heavenward, causing Draco to pat her hand sympathetically. "I'm afraid we must simply consider it endearing." 

"Hey!" Harry objected. "I didn't say I wasn't _thinking_ about them. Just -- it's not panic time." 

"Yes, darling," Draco answered sweetly.

"Oh, you're impossible. I don't see you panicking on Fridays, either." 

"Perhaps I am adequately prepared." 

"Right," Harry said firmly. "And on Saturday night, people who aren't will panic. And on Sunday, they're mostly done or have given up, but half the time you panic then, because you've suddenly thought of some _extra_ point you should have worked in ten inches back." 

"Oh, Sunday's about when Ron panics," Hermione objected, smiling.

"He does seem to take unprepared to an extreme," Draco agreed. 

"It's not his strong point," Harry argued. "Schoolwork isn't everyone's focus." 

"We are in _school_." 

"Right, but most of us didn't choose it, did we? This is just what we have to do to get on to the real stuff." 

Draco's tongue clicked against his teeth. "This is what prepares us for 'the real stuff,' as you call it."

"I get that," Harry said. "I do. That's why I didn't care at all, last year -- what was the point, if I couldn't leave? But the two of you, and the Ravenclaws, and even Blaise, though he says it's just ambition -- you all seem to like it for _itself_." 

They both thought about that for a minute. Hermione nodded first. "I do," she said. "I'd like a job that's as much like school as possible. Something in research, I mean." 

Draco shifted over -- moving away from her, but Harry thought only so that he could turn sideways and face them both, his back against the arm of the sofa. "I've been looking at communications, myself. I enjoy writing persuasive pieces. Most opportunities are with the Ministry, though, and currently being their agent of persuasion seems at odds with the rest of my life." 

"They might improve," Harry offered. "They've been more open about attacks since they admitted Nott escaped." 

"As far as you know."

Shrugging, Harry inclined his head to acknowledge the truth of that. "If I get any time alone with Tonks at the Veritaserum interview, I'll ask." 

He could see both of them tense. Draco stiffened in the back, bringing his head higher, and Hermione clasped her hands tightly together. 

"Do you have a date?" 

"Not yet." Harry sat up in his chair. "I did get the list of approximate questions, though, after classes today -- I was called to Dumbledore's office, because I had to sign a contract for it. They're what we agreed on." 

Hermione frowned. "Why make you wait, then?" 

"Veritaserum resistance potions," Draco said.

"I thought there wasn't any such thing." 

"Nothing reliable. However, there are substances that can provide a slight edge of control -- but they are not effective for long and cause delusional paranoia if taken repeatedly. They will surprise him."

 

When Parvati and Seamus arrived at the Uncommon Room on Friday, they chatted over collecting plates of food, but then went to sit separately, Parvati with her twin, and Seamus with Millicent and Cornelia. If they hadn't kissed before parting, Harry would have wondered if they had split up. Looking around, he thought that the group was more mixed than it had been. The new Hufflepuff, a pink-cheeked blond girl named Hannah Abbot, was sitting with Susan, but they were on the long sofa, sandwiched between Luna and Linnet. Besides, Hannah was new this week, and Susan was the only other Hufflepuff. Cadwallader had apparently not been interested. 

Harry had to revise that thought a minute later, when the Hufflepuff Chaser walked in with Ginny. He hadn't known that they knew each other, but he supposed they were in the same year, and so had probably taken classes together. In fact, Cadwallader put his schoolbag down on the seat nearest to Cornelia, on one end of the blue and white loveseat, before Ginny led him over to the refreshments. 

"Hello," Draco said, extending his hand, "I'm Draco Malfoy." 

"Caradog Cadwallader," Cadwallader said uncomfortably, but he shook hands with Draco before extending his hand to Harry in turn. "Potter." 

"Harry, please," Harry answered, and got a startled smile in return. 

"We do tend to be on a first-name basis here," Draco agreed. 

"Good," Cadwallader said, with hearty relief. "Caradog, then." 

As the two gathered crackers and cheese and spoonfuls of preserves, Draco turned to survey the room. "I believe everyone has arrived. Considering the new attendees, should we start with introductions?" 

"Where's Hermione?" Parvati asked, twisting to look over the back of the white sofa. "Didn't you invite her?"

"We did," Harry answered, into increasing quiet. "She wasn't sure she'd come, though."

"Studying?" Parvati said mockingly.

"It was more other people's work than her own, I think," Harry replied. "She thought she should be available to help."

"On a Friday night? They'll ask her tomorrow, if that!" 

"It did have the air of an excuse," Draco agreed mildly. "Still, that is her prerogative. The invitation is extended; in time, she will grow too curious to remain away." 

"Are we playing today anyway?" Linnet asked.

Parvati hesitated. 

"I think we should," Seamus said. "Waiting for Hermione to have a good time is a fool's game." 

Ron snorted. "Point." 

"Oh, does that mean you're in, this week?"

"I suppose." 

"Very well, then." Parvati clapped her hands. "Seats, everyone!" She turned to her sister, who was sitting to her right. "Padma, would you like to start?" 

Harry half expected Ron, who was only separated from Parvati by Neville, to move, but he squared his shoulders and sat deeper in his wing-back chair instead. Harry thought he might need the security of being between Gryffindors -- although sitting alone -- or he might want to get his first round over with. He had an obstinate look that strengthened the latter theory. 

"That would be lovely," Padma said, and surveyed the room in a wide sweep of her dark eyes. Harry thought the look was much more striking than Parvati's affected flutters. "I'm curious," she said, almost apologetically. "So .... I've never thought I'd be fine in another house." Immediately, she took a bead and tapped it with her wand, turning it opaque, and faintly pink. "The other house color, if you dare." 

Neville, blushing, took a bead and clouded it with pale yellow, while Draco set his to blue. Resolutely, Harry turned his bead a sea foam green, and held it out. Linnet matched him with pink and a smile. Susan extended hers, also pink, and Blaise turned one blue before passing the bowl down to Millicent who made hers yellow. Luna had all the house colors, plus a gentle peach, and was placidly adding a soft violet.

"Did anyone else argue with the Sorting Hat?" Harry asked. "I've always wanted to know."

"You can't argue with the Sorting Hat!" Gilbert exclaimed. 

"Well, you _can_ ," Susan demurred. She and Linnet looked at each other. "It wouldn't do to appear reckless."

"Or to suddenly become the black sheep of the family." 

"For Gryffindor?" Ron objected. "No one could object to that!" 

"It was that way for Sirius, I think," Harry said.

"He didn't want to be a Gryffindor?"

"No, his _family_ didn't want it, or so people have told me." 

"The only non-Slytherin of his line in over a century," Draco broke in. "Though, I should say 'first,' not only. My Aunt Andromeda's daughter was apparently a Hufflepuff, although as her mother had been disowned before she was born, one might say it doesn't count."

"Hold on -- you're related to, um, Sirius Black?" 

"Yes. My mother was a Black by birth. She and Sirius were cousins." Draco's arm tensed under Harry's squeeze. "But I expect Harry doesn't want to rehash all of that now. Parvati?" 

Parvati took on a shrewd expression, her eyes narrowing in a way that made Harry uneasy. She was planning to target someone, he believed, although she managed not to reveal her quarry by looking. 

"Very well," she said. "I have never taken a lover -- in the broadest sense, just romance and just sex both count -- whom I felt to be inadequate." 

She sat back, crossing her arms. Harry was grateful Hermione had not shown up. As harsh as that question was, it would be far worse with both her and Ron in the room. Draco was the first to reach hesitantly forward. 

"Not Harry," he said into the silence, and Blaise twitched. 

"And why not? He's no higher class than I am. No offense, Harry."

"He has the name, but--"

"He's a half-blood!" 

Draco twisted to face Blaise. The three of them were sharing a sofa, which now felt extremely awkward, roomy as it was. Draco pressed back into Harry, and Blaise was pressed back against the arm. 

"He will not be bearing me heirs, so there is no reason to care." 

"You weren't so generous with me." 

"I am not FIFTEEN." 

Draco was not inclined to shout. No one moved. Finally, Draco let out a shaky breath. "I did not appreciate you as you deserved, Blaise, but I will not apologize. You knew me, and yet you started it, and as much as I enjoy your company, it would never have been love." 

Most people were looking uneasily at the ivy, or their own sleeves. Ron was staring. Harry wanted to take Draco's hand, but was afraid it would make things worse. 

Slowly, Blaise nodded. "I knew that," he said quietly. "And I don't mind now, really, but...." With a shrug, he stood up and went to where Linnet was sitting. "Would you switch?"

"Of course." 

As he sat by Susan, Blaise muttered something that might have been "sorry," and she patted his hand. Harry finally dared to pull Draco closer. 

"Shouldn't you be taking one, Harry?" Parvati asked sweetly. 

"For what?" 

"Inviting me to the ball?" 

"Oh, are we including single dates? That seems a bit much." Harry crossed his arms in a mirror of her pose. "And you'd need to take one too, as I don't believe for a moment that you thought _I_ was adequate." 

Sophia and Gilbert were quietly taking beads. 

"I thought I was old enough that not having a girlfriend would be seen as a failure," Gilbert volunteered when he became aware of the eyes on him. "It was rather stupid." 

Cornelia gestured for the bowl, and Gilbert passed it down. "I wanted someone to go to places with over the summer," she said. "He was just a Muggle, though. I felt bad about it when I realized he was sincere, and that I never had been." 

Ginny's hand darted forward. "Just practice," she said. "I was flattered." She glanced to Gilbert's chair. "And like Gilbert said, I thought I was supposed to. Color?"

"In a moment." Parvati raised her chin. "Ron?"

"What?"

"Take a bead." 

Harry, who had momentarily hoped this was all aimed at him, unthinkingly squeezed Draco's hand.

"What? Hermione's brilliant." 

"And she won't be a good mother? And she's too involved in her schoolwork? And she's not pretty enough?"

Ron's face had darkened. "She _is_ pretty! I just wish she'd do more with it, that's all." 

Gilbert snorted. Harry let go of Draco and turned to Ron. He had been moved by some vague thought of diffusing things, but once he was looking at his friend, found himself fighting indignation. 

"Ron, take a bead."

"It's not true!"

"Then take it, and the next time you want to complain about her, look at it." 

Ron's eyes darted here and there about the room and found all the Gryffindors nodding. Scowling, he took a bead. Parvati smiled. 

"There," she said sweetly. "Dirty mauve." 

If the game had started like this, Harry didn't think any of them would have kept on with it. He was relieved that Neville was next. 

Neville, indeed, seemed to be racking his brains for something innocuous. "I've never pretended to be sick to stay home from a party," he said, and promptly took a bead, turning it bright pink, with a white spiral. 

"Right." Draco Summoned the bowl back from near Ginny, and took a bead. 

"I thought you loved parties," Harry protested. 

" _Not_ at the Goyles'," Draco answered, grimacing. "I managed to skip their Christmas party twice, but the third year, Mother noticed the pattern."

"Of course she did!" Blaise looked shocked. "Three years in a row? Have a little subtlety!" 

"I was eight!" Draco protested. "The last time, I mean."

"Oh, all right then." 

Millicent gestured for the bowl. Linnet and Blaise each snagged a bead as it went past. 

"I thought everyone did."

Susan sighed. "Would've, if I'd thought I'd get away with it," she said wistfully. "Now and then, Aunt Amelia wants to show off extra family."

"I hate dresses," Millicent said baldly, as she passed the bowl on. "And most of the people Mum wants to suck up to."

"I never bother with people I hate," Cornelia sang. Harry didn't recognize the tune, but it made Hannah giggle. 

"Not you, Harry?" Linnet asked, as she examined the color on her bead. 

He shrugged, trying to stay relaxed. "I never got invited to parties." 

Her eyes widened. "But you're so nice!" she exclaimed, making him smile. 

"Yeah, but my Muggle relatives told the neighbors I was dangerous and untrustworthy."

Draco smirked. "Quite true, but you're still nice," he said, making Harry shove into him hard.

"Ouch! You see?" Draco said, rubbing his shoulder. "You're dangerous." 

"You deserved that," Harry laughed. 

"Indubitably." 

Unfortunately, that made it Ron's turn, and he was still glowering. Twice, he looked deliberately between Parvati and Harry, and then his chin lowered in a way that Harry was far too familiar with. 

"I've never let my lover bugger me," he said, and sat back. 

Harry wanted to hit him. Clearly, that was aimed at him and Draco. Ron wouldn't believe it if neither of them took a bead, but some of the others might. He didn't want people thinking they weren't willing.

"Too personal!" Ginny protested. "Ron, don't be an arse." 

"Isn't most of this personal?" 

"Too targeted," Millicent growled. 

"Actually, I think it meets our criteria for fairness," Sophia opined. "It clearly _was_ targeted, but it's not so specific as to exclude everyone else. Pass me the bowl, will you?"

"Girls _do_ that?" Blaise exclaimed. 

"Well, we can." 

"I thought it was only men that liked it," Draco said doubtfully. 

Pointedly, Sophia checked inside her shirt. "Apparently not," she said brightly, taking a bead. 

That settled, a number of people returned to looking at Harry and Draco. Seamus whispered to Millicent, who snorted, and Draco's cheeks flared with pink. Obviously everyone thought they had done it, rather than pussyfooting around like a couple of nervous virgins. 

Harry leaned forward and Sophia, with a conspiratorial wink, passed him the bowl. 

"Harry!" Draco whispered, scandalized. 

"What? I'm not embarrassed." Harry looked up at Ron, who was wide-eyed and clearly horrified. "Sorry you asked?" he asked tartly. His heart was hammering. Draco would have to go ahead with it now -- maybe even tonight -- because Seamus, at least, was sure to ask.

"More than you can imagine." 

"What color?"

Ron's face tightened. "Brown, of course." 

Harry rolled his eyes. "There are _charms_ for that, you know," he tossed out, as if he knew all of them.

"Several," Sophia confirmed, as Harry colored his bead. Ron looked away. Harry glanced around the room, but found almost everyone looking uneasily elsewhere. The exception was Seamus, who shrugged and turned his hands up.

"I gave up trying to decipher you months ago," he said. "You're beyond reason, really." 

That left Harry trying to find a way to ease the tension, while not being boring. That probably meant choosing something outrageous that he had done himself. 

"I've never hexed a teacher." 

Blaise whooped, and Parvati burst into giggles as Harry colored a bead scarlet.

Harry was surprised at how many people took a bead. He knew that he and Ron and Draco all would, of course, but Ginny was surprising, and Susan and Gilbert downright shocking. "Gilbert?"

Gilbert's eyebrows arched up. "Having not been caught," he said haughtily, "I am scarcely inclined to provide details."

"Oh. _That_ sort of hexing! Well--" 

The door thumped open. Harry stopped. "Trouble," Ron muttered, as quick footsteps echoed down the passage.

Harry leapt to his feet, hoping to intercept the intruder, but before he could get around the sofa, Hermione burst into the room, alone. 

"Harry!" she cried, into the silence. "You have to come right away! Professor McGonagall says the headmaster will send the ghosts to search for you if you're not in his office within the hour."

"Could you have been followed?" Draco asked grimly.

She shook her head. "I was careful. And I sent three other people to different locations, and I looked back with a mirror spell after the first corner. But it's all taken time, so do hurry, Harry!" 

Harry nodded. Stuffing his new beads into his pocket, he pulled his school bag out from under the sofa. "Right. Let's go." 

He checked their spying mirror at the door, which showed the view from the larger one outside, but no one appeared to be waiting. Harry wasn't sure the view would catch a tabby cat by the wall, but there was nothing more he could do. He opened the door, and he and Hermione slipped out into an empty corridor.

"Do you know what this is about?" he asked, as they jogged the last length to the stairs.

"No idea," she said back. "Have you been causing any trouble?" 

"I haven't had time!" Harry answered indignantly, but, of course, that wasn't really true. He had started the Uncommon Room, he had been in the Chamber of Secrets, and he was secretly taking lessons -- however useless they might be -- with Snape. For that matter, he had cursed Hermione. At least he knew this had nothing to do with Millicent, as she hadn't been summoned with him. Although, that might just mean that the prefects who knew her location -- Draco and Linnet -- were already with her. "Did you say anything?"

"No, Harry! I promise."

"I mean ... you know, about where you'd look?" 

"Oh. I implied you might be with Draco?" Her voice rose nervously, muddling the tone. "But they'd guess that. You know they would."

Harry blew out a breath as if they were truly running. "Yeah. Well, at least I'll be showing up sober." 

The gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office slid aside without waiting for a password, and Hermione grabbed Harry, pulling him into a quick hug. 

"I'll wait."

"Thanks," he said, and stepped onto the stairs. 

 

The door to Dumbledore's office was open. Before he had even reached the landing, he saw Tonks, standing stiffly in her Auror robes, and another, burlier, Auror behind her. Dumbledore rose to his feet behind his desk. 

"Mr. Potter," he said warmly. "I believe you have an agreed-upon Veritaserum interview?"

"Now?" Harry asked. The strange Auror turned to him with a glare that almost made Harry step back. "Er -- Hermione said she'd wait for me." He gestured back to the spiral staircase, and Dumbledore nodded solemnly. 

"I will inform her that you will not return until tomorrow," he said. His hand was cool on Harry's shoulder as he passed, leaving Harry alone with the Aurors and Fawkes. For some reason, all he could think of was Draco, and how now he couldn't explain why he had lied about having had anal sex. 

"I know it's a shock," Tonks said cheerily, stepping forward to take his arm. "But as I told you before, it's rather designed to be. You'll be in a cell tonight, but a decent one, and we should have you back in time for lunch tomorrow. Come on, now. Professor Dumbledore said we could use his Floo."

 

Harry dreamed that Draco was fucking him in the Gryffindor Common Room, and Ron was saying he should be painted brown, and Dean was offended. Hermione offered to start an organization for the acceptance of anal sex, and before he could stop her was designing obscene buttons with Sophia, except Snape came in and confiscated them, and seemed to think they were Harry's fault. Draco, obliviously, wrapped a string of beads tight around Harry's cock. 

He woke, gasping, but fortunately with his pants dry. He was still tired, but a dim light was filling the room, and the hard bed and plain grey walls were too oppressively strange to allow him to return to sleep. His mouth was parched, so much so that his throat hurt when he breathed too deeply. 

Sitting up, he told himself not to panic. Yes, he was wandless and trapped, but Tonks had promised someone trusted by Dumbledore would stay near all night. Of course, Snape had said that Hogwarts was the safest place to be if there were Death Eaters after you, which implied a MLE holding area was less safe. What if Voldemort knew and mounted a raid? But Dumbledore must know that was a risk, and he had approved this maneuver. He wouldn't allow Harry to be harmed, right? 

Taking another painfully deep breath, Harry reminded himself that this was for Sirius. He needed to worry about his testimony, not hypothetical attacks. Well, his testimony and the lack of a loo. 

By the time Tonks returned, he was worrying more about that than about an attack. 

"Morning, Harry!" she said brightly, her wand waving alarmingly as she gestured. "Ready to go?"

"Um ... toilet?" he asked. He had been lying down to ease the pressure on his bladder; standing up was painful. 

"Just a mo'. Stay still." The wand jabbed towards him. Harry braced for the tickling investigation of a security spell -- instead, the pressure in his abdomen suddenly eased. "We use hospital spells instead," Tonks said cheerily. "Cuts down on escape attempts. Do you need the other kind?" 

_Other...? Oh!_ "Er, no." Harry regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. If he had paid attention, he would have had an incantation to search for, at least. He stepped closer. "Is it hard to learn?" 

"Not at all! First section of _Bonander's_ _Charms for Apprentice Healers_. You need to choose a place for the 'output' to go, though -- we have an enclosed toilet on the third floor. It overflowed once, a few years ago -- too many Aurors processing detainees from simultaneous raids of a half-dozen sand houses."

"Sand houses?" he asked, as she opened the door. 

"Oh!" She blushed. "It's ... it's a class of illicit potions. Don't worry about it -- I'm sure you don't know anyone-- Just step through, now. Second door on the right. Stop in the first room."

The second door on the right was open. The first room had two chairs, both facing a large window onto unlit space. Harry wondered if it was really still night. The thought fled as he noticed what was on the little table between the chairs -- a small glass full of water. Harry sucked on his dry tongue. They weren't going to give him that, were they? From what Tonks had said last night, he got nothing to eat or drink until after the interrogation. 

Indeed, Tonks picked up the glass and took a swallow of it herself, drinking almost half the liquid. Harry tried to look away, but she stepped in front of him. 

"Have the rest," she whispered. "It's a stupid rule." 

Gratefully, Harry took the glass and downed the rest of the water. It had a faint aftertaste of lemon. He decided to believe it was _lemon_ to freshen the taste, not unrinsed cleaner, or something from her mouth. He felt so much better afterwards that it was easy to push aside doubts. 

"Now," Tonks said cheerily, as she took the empty glass from him, "this is the monitoring room. Once the monitors arrive, I will take you into the interrogation room. Everything that happens there is recorded and part of department record, so potentially of public record."

"But you'll stick to the list?"

"Yes, of course." 

"So why are you telling me this? I won't be able to lie anyway, so--" The sound of an opening door silenced him. The door banged shut, and footsteps -- two people, he thought -- came down the hallway.

"Just do your best," Tonks said, and with that strange advice, turned to greet the newcomers. 

There were three of them. Harry recognized Kingsley Shacklebolt immediately. It would have been reassuring that someone in Dumbledore's confidence was there, if it hadn't been for the other two -- Special Inquisitor Valerian Cabot, and Auror Mason, who had come to Hogwarts with Tonks weeks ago. Harry looked nervously at Tonks. 

"Harry," she said, "This is Special Inquisitor Cabot. Have you met?"

"Not personally," Harry admitted, as Cabot's hand took his in an almost painful grip. "Hello, sir." 

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," Cabot replied. "I hope we did not disrupt your weekend?" 

"Not too much," Harry lied. 

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, head of the Pernicious Activities Division."

"Hello, Mr. Shacklebolt." 

Shacklebolt's expression was benevolent, but it did not escape Harry's notice that "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter," was not something that acknowledged their mutual attendance of two intense planning meetings. 

"And Auror Mason, of course."

"Hi," Harry said, shaking Mason's hand as well. He hoped the Veritaserum wasn't strong enough to make him let on his dislike of the man. 

"Now," Shacklebolt began, reaching into his robes, but Cabot cut him off. 

"I must claim Inquisitorial privilege, Auror Shacklebolt. I brought some of our supply ... in case there might be an error." From his own robes, Cabot brought out a tiny phial of clear liquid. 

"This is not an Inquisitorial investigation." 

"Historically, yes, but it has hardly been productive, has it?" 

With one smooth step, Shacklebolt was between Harry and the inquisitor. "The boy is a willing witness, not a suspect. I must insist you honor all facets of that agreement." 

Cabot inclined his head. "Acknowledged. I am aware that I am not above the Wizengamot." 

With a hard nod, Shacklebolt stepped back. "Proceed, then."

Cabot pivoted. "Into the interrogation room, Mr. Potter."

Glancing at Tonks, Harry stumbled forward. Was Mr. Cabot going to ask him the questions? This wasn't how it was supposed to go, was it? What if he changed the limits? Her face gave him nothing, but as she came close on his heels, she whispered, "Steady."

She thought he could handle this, obviously, but he couldn't see why. Even with Veritaserum resistance potions....

Remembering the water, he licked his lips. There had been something in it. Maybe he did have some resistance. Maybe she had had some warning that it would all go wrong. 

At Cabot's "Sit," he practically fell into the waiting chair. Cabot had him keep his tongue out while he floated the first drop onto it. Harry didn't feel the impact of the liquid itself, but his tongue immediately grew heavier. The second drop spread lethargy down his throat and into his limbs. He couldn't tell if his mouth was still dry. 

"Thank you, sir. I can take over from here." 

The voice sounded like it was coming through a distant, shoddy loudspeaker. It was Tonks, though, and she was right there. Harry forced himself to remember Cabot, beside her. Cabot wasn't supposed to be in the room. 

"Quite, Auror Tonks," Cabot said politely, giving her a nod. He stepped out through a space in the blank wall, and Harry was alone with Tonks. 

_Not alone_ , he reminded himself. _Three people can see in here, and only one might be an ally._ Biting his lip slightly, to be sure his mouth was shut, he again told himself that this was for Sirius. 

Tonks moved into his field of vision, spurring him to focus. 

"Please state your name for the record." 

"Harry James Potter." _I didn't know I'd put the James in there._

"Good. I am going to ask you some questions about your encounter with Sirius Black in June of 1994. Do you agree that this is why you are here?"

"Yes." 

"Did Sirius Black threaten you in any way?" 

"No. Ron warned me before I saw him, but Sirius said only one person would die that night." 

The words spilled out of him before he could edit. The Veritaserum didn't just keep him from lying -- it was more like each question caused an itch that only eased when he provided information. 

Tonks frowned. He could tell she wanted to ask more, but they didn't have a question for this. 

"He meant Peter Pettigrew, but I convinced him not to kill him. I said my father wouldn't have wanted him --" Harry wrenched a reference to Remus out of the sentence and hurried on -- "to become a murderer." 

"I see. Was Peter Pettigrew there?"

"I didn't think so at first. I thought he was mad. But they cast a spell on Ron's rat, and it turned into a crouched over man who started begging them for mercy." 

"Did the man who was a rat deny he was Peter Pettigrew?"

"No. He didn't deny betraying my parents, either. He just said that Sirius didn't understand how terrible the Dark Lord was. Professor Lupin was sure it was Pettigrew as well." 

"Why didn't anyone capture him?" 

"We did. But when we came out of the tunnel, Remus turned into a werewolf, and he tried to attack us, because he had missed his medicine, and while Sirius was drawing him off, the rat escaped."

"The rat being Pettigrew?" 

"Yes." 

They had reached the end of the things Harry had agreed to talk about, and he had managed to keep from saying that Sirius was an animagus, even though that had been harder than he had expected. He hoped Tonks gave him the antidote right away. 

As she was reaching for her pocket, the door burst open, and she flew backwards, hitting the wall. 

"Potter!" Mason shouted. "Do you know where Sirius Black is right now?" 

Harry clamped his mouth shut, squirming with the answers that wanted to come out -- at Darkmoon Den, with Remus Lupin-- _But maybe not right now_ , he thought frantically. _He could be out walking. He could be buying milk. He could be hunting rats._

"No," he choked out.

"You know something."

Harry knew a lot of things, and needed to let at least one out or they would drown him. "My fourth year he stayed in a cave near Hogsmeade," he said quickly. "So we could visit. I brought food out to him, but it got too dangerous, and he went away. I--" 

" _Silencio_ _!_ " Tonks had recovered. 

" _Impedimente_ _! Finite--_ "

" _Expelliarmus_ _!_ " 

As soon as Harry had stopped being able to speak, the squirming returned. He found himself on the floor, Tonks standing over him, her wand trained on the disarmed Auror Mason. 

"That was a violation of international accords!"

"But we now know that the boy knows more than he's saying! And--"

"And we can't use any of what he _has_ said in court, you idiot!! Kingsley!" she shouted towards the door, before glaring back down at Mason. "What did--?" 

"You're protecting him, aren't you? Did you bring Black food as well? He used to mind you when you were a little girl; I've seen it in the records."

"What of it? I have done nothing to help him, Richard. Unlike some people, I respect the laws we're supposed to be upholding."

Harry wanted to say she was lying, because it was hideously important that everything be out in the open, but his vision was starting to darken at the edges. Tonks must have realized, because she tumbled down beside him. 

"Oh crap! Drink this." 

She spilled black sludge into his mouth. It was slimy, but tasted like lemons, and someone else was walking through the wall, or what had been a wall, before wall, person, and the legs of his chair began to spiral down into a tunnel of fog. He floated away.

 

"How is he?" 

"He hasn't spoken yet." 

"I apologize for not coming to your assistance. Cabot stepped out after getting a memo, and I turned back into a Body Bind." The voice was deep and hard. "You know how good Richard is at non-verbal spells." 

"Of course. And I have my suspicions about that memo." 

"Nymphadora," the deep voice warned. "I will not hear baseless allegations against a senior Ministry official."

The name helped. That snort of derision was Tonks. "Yes, of course. I'm letting my frustration get the better of me." 

"Quite. Recall that he intervened as soon as he returned." Harry placed the deep voice as well. It was Shacklebolt. He decided to try opening his eyes.

"Look!" Tonks whispered.

"What?" 

"I saw a flutter. I think he's coming to." A small hand pressed along Harry's cheek. "Are you there, Harry? You're in St. Mungo's."

"Ha-- Long?"

"Eighty-two minutes," Shacklebolt said wryly. At least, Harry was assuming that dark blur was Shacklebolt. "Tonks rushed you here while I filed reports. Can you sit up? You'll feel better if you have some water."

A strong arm helped him lift up from the pillow, which was scooted under his back.

"Fair warning," Tonks said. "Since you've been unconscious, you may not have cleared out all the Veritaserum. I suspect the Inquisitorial supply is a little stronger than ours." 

"Right." Harry took a sip of the water than someone was holding for him and coughed. Another hand slid his glasses onto his face. With his vision normal, he immediately felt less disoriented. "I didn't realize that was the problem." 

"The Veritaserum?"

"No, my glasses. Not having my glasses on." He coughed. "Everything was a blur." 

"Hm. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Harry looked, counted, squinted, and counted again. "Um, six?"

"Very good!" The disturbing extra finger sank back into her palm. "I can't even get you on a trick question. How much do you remember?" 

"Um -- Inquisitor Cabot showed up with the Aurors, and insisted he got to give me his own Veritaserum. After that, he left, and it was mostly okay until Auror Mason broke in and asked if I knew where Sirius is." 

Winking, Tonks nodded. "And fortunately for him, you didn't." 

"Right, but I couldn't stay quiet, so I said that thing about my fourth year -- will I get in trouble?" 

Shacklebolt shook his head. "In the last decade, there have been firmer limits enacted on testimony. Yes, if you'd been a suspect in a crime, and were legally subject to involuntary Veritaserum interrogation, you might be charged, or he might be charged with corruption of a minor. But as a willing witness with a magically verified contract with the MLE, you are protected from any consequence of that contract being violated. You can't be charged, and he can only be charged if you agree to it."

"Which I won't." 

"Obviously." 

Harry looked around. He was in a small, single-bed hospital room, and he wouldn't be surprised to find that the windowless door was locked. "Why I am here?" 

"I had to cast a Silencing Hex on you," Tonks said. 

"Being silenced while under Veritaserum is dangerous," Kingsley explained. "Your mind is at war with your body." 

"I barely got the antidote into you before you passed out. I should have been faster." 

"You tried to protect his privacy and his health. It was a difficult balance." 

"She did argue with him a bit." Harry didn't know why he'd said that. Tonks had looked guilty enough without it. "Um, but I feel okay, mostly. Just like I'd been in a rough Quidditch practice. Is there anything wrong with me?"

Kingsley clapped him on the shoulder. "Apparently not. If you had Revelation Syndrome it would have shown by now. You may have a lingering tendency to be a bit too frank...."

"Oh. Yeah, I'd been noticing that. Sorry, Tonks. How lingering?"

"No more than an hour or two." Shacklebolt stood back. "Let's try a test. Tell me your name is Terrence Blurt, and you're an internationally famous Quodpot star."

Harry met his eyes steadily. "My name is Terrence Blurt, and I'm a famous--" At "I," his voice started to waver, and at "famous," he burst out laughing. 

"Yes, we should definitely still keep you isolated." 

"But look," Harry choked out, "that's ridiculous." 

"And _that_ was the problem?"

"I think so. I mean, no one would believe I'm American, to begin with, and what's the point of saying you're someone else and then claiming to be famous?" He started trying sentences. 

"My name is 'Boy' and my parents died in a car crash." The words felt odd in his mouth, but came out easily enough. "I attend St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys." 

Shacklebolt's eyes widened. "And that is not ridiculous?" 

"Well, I remember thinking my name was 'Boy' when I was little. Until I started school, maybe? And I believed my parents had died in a car crash until Hagrid heard that and told me they were murdered; it's what my aunt and uncle always said. And they told people I went to this St. Brutus's place during the school year, though that's rather silly, really. Why would someone who was considered incurably criminal be sent home for the summer? Anyway, I needed to be able to say it without laughing." The words caught up to him, and he shivered. "I suppose you're right. I'm explaining all this too easily. I don't trust adults -- well, people in charge -- and I wouldn't usually...." 

He grabbed his wrist and dug his nails hard into the skin. "Stopping now." 

Tonks and Shacklebolt looked at each other. 

"Should I give him more antidote?" 

"No." Shacklebolt topped up Harry's water glass from a pitcher. "Drink that. Then drink another one. You need to flush your system. If you can stand up, I want to take you to Hogwarts, where you can have some privacy."

"You can't just leave me here?" 

Shacklebolt shook his head. "It wouldn't help." 

"This room is reserved for MLE patients -- sometime Aurors and sometimes prisoners. It's not being monitored now, or the glass by the door would glow, but if someone came by--"

"Someone who outranked me, that is," put in Shacklebolt. 

"Yes. The Special Inquisitor, for example, could listen in." 

"Right." Harry pushed himself upright, and swung his legs off the side of the bed. It made him only a little dizzy. "Let's go."

They needed to Floo, of course, and Harry ended up on the floor covered with ash, but when they had him in a bed, Tonks cast a Sound-Block around it and sat outside it to keep an eye on him. Shacklebolt was talking to Madame Pomfrey, but the spell worked both ways, so Harry could not hear them. 

It seemed to take forever for the water to go through him, and there was nothing else to do but drink more of it. Harry wondered if he should leave the flying horses Sirius had given him in the Hospital Wing. He hadn't thought about them for months. 

Eventually, he left the protection of the Sound-Block charm to use the loo, and when he got back, Kingsley was waiting for him. 

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Would you care to explain why you do not trust 'adults'?"

"Piss off," Harry replied, happy to hear the words come out unembellished. "No offense intended." 

"Of course not." Kingsley flashed white teeth in a quick smile. "Though I hope you might consider making an exception for me, in time." He held up a hand. "No reply necessary. Do you consider yourself recovered?"

"Yeah." Leaning back against the bed, Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "But I'm still going to tell you I'd have to know you a whole lot better." He indicated Tonks with a jerk of his head. "She might be okay." 

"Thanks," Tonks said. 

Harry could still hear the thoughts in the back of his head -- that they had other loyalties, that he was never the priority of anyone older than him -- but they didn't need to come out now. 

"Thanks for taking care of me," he said. "Really. You did a lot."

"I'll be back in touch," Tonks promised. 

They flooed away, and Madame Pomfrey began her own examination. It was at least ten minutes later that Harry finally got to set out in search of Draco. 

 


	33. Lies, Breaks, and Fixes

 

Stepping out of Madame Pomfrey's domain into the dim-lit corridor was his real return to Hogwarts. Harry wondered what had happened while he was gone. Had Draco stood by his lie or confessed to someone? Perhaps Blaise? Harry shuddered as he remembered the trouble Parvati's question had caused between Draco and Blaise. They wouldn't be telling each other anything now, and conversation about him would likely be avoided for quite some time. 

Thinking about that, he was surprised to realize that he had been gone less than twenty-four hours -- possibly less than twelve. At the stairs, rather than choosing between up and down, he crossed the landing to the window. The pale winter sun was still straining towards its midday peak -- so it was more than twelve hours, but not by much. He set his school bag -- which Auror Tonks had returned to him in the Hospital Wing -- on the windowsill, and drew out the _Liber Geminus_ and a self-inking quill. 

_Are you around? I'm back._

If Draco wasn't touching the book, he wouldn't notice it warming, and it took a while to glow. While he waited, Harry wondered if they could link the books' signals to something more commonly in contact -- their bead bracelets, perhaps. 

_In my room. Shall we meet in our clubhouse?_

Harry grinned. Hermione's name for the Chamber of Secrets had definitely stuck. 

_Great._

For a moment, he twirled the quill in his fingers, gathering his nerve, and then quickly added two more words. 

_Bring lube._

The sentence curved a little bit up at the end, but then, the stone sill wasn't the best writing surface. 

Tucking the book away, he started down the stairs, telling himself it was the best choice. Hermione would be upset that he hadn't come to her first, but a detour to the library would take too long, and might cause him to run into Ron, or worse yet, Seamus. As he was thinking about this, he became aware of light footsteps approaching quickly from below. _Younger kids_ , he thought. _Probably Gryffindors heading back to the tower. If I know any of them, I can ask them to take a message._

When the children spotted him, they stopped for a moment on the landing, jostling each other. There were five of them -- all Slytherins. Recovering, they continued forward at a deliberate saunter, with one little girl speeding up to take the lead. She didn't quite jog, but the quickness of her stride made her golden curls bounce under the loops of lilac lace crowning her ponytail. 

"Good morning, Harry," she said primly, drawing a nervous giggle from one of her followers. 

"Good morning, Gentian," Harry replied, holding back a grin. Apparently his offer to use first names had been significant enough to stick. "Are you on your way to the library?"

Heads twitched behind her affirmative reply. Two of the boys whispered to each other. Her friend Ogden, lingering at the back, was silent. 

"Would you do me a favor?" Harry asked. "I'd like to get a message to Hermione Granger, and she's likely to be there." 

Gentian hesitated. "I'm not sure that I know her," she said carefully.

A year ago, Harry might have taken that as a haughty pureblood's coded refusal to speak to a Muggleborn. Now, with rather more experience with Slytherins, he decided that could just be an opening to negotiate. "Seventh-year girl with bushy hair," he said brightly. "She'll be the Gryffindor surrounded by more books than a Ravenclaw. I'd be happy to help you with a spell in return," he added. "Anything assigned in Charms or Defense Against the Dark Arts." 

Her attention definitely sharpened at that. "Including supplemental reading?" 

"Supplemental reading at my discretion," Harry said firmly, trying not to be distracted by the incredulous looks of the kids behind her.

With no hesitation, Gentian nodded. "That's fair. Just the library?" 

"Well, if it was a weekday, I'd have you try the mixed-house space," Harry said. "But it's closed now. Just the library."

"Very well. I agree, if I don't object to the message. What is it?" 

"Tell her I'm back, and safe, and I'll find her later." 

"That's all?" one of the whispering boys scoffed. 

"I was at the MLE," Harry said dryly, amused to see that two of the kids stepped back. "Just about Sirius Black, you know, but I'd agreed to a Veritaserum interview, so they kept me overnight."

"Why waste Veritaserum on a _Gryffindor_?" 

Harry felt his eyebrow stretch up. "Oh, because we _never_ lie," he choked out. 

Gentian tittered. 

"Miss Parkinson says you might be different," Ogden said. " _That's_ why Malfoy's obsessed with you." 

"Giver her my thanks for the compliment," Harry shot back, and was pleased to see Ogden clamp his teeth down his lower lip. "Well, it _must_ have been fine for you to repeat that," he said. "As we all know that Slytherins are discreet." 

"Got you there, Ogden," a dark-haired girl said. 

"And I recommend the mixed-house space. You'll have to deal with Gryffindors at some point; it might help to know what we're actually like." 

At least two of the kids nodded quickly as he passed, which he thought was probably a respectful farewell, considering who he was. He continued on his way to the storeroom. The only other person he encountered en route was Ernie Macmillan, who gave him a curt "Good day, Potter." 

 

When Harry entered the Chamber, Draco was there and on his feet. 

"Finally!" he exclaimed. It sounded like a scold, but he was already returning Harry's embrace tightly. Harry felt the flow of scales onto his shoulder. Familiarity balanced surprise and he froze rather than flinching back. 

"Susara was _frantic_ when she got back and you were gone," Draco said, the words tumbling out. "I couldn't explain, of course, but she shouldn't stay in the cold. I finally put my hand down next to her, and she climbed up my arm and wouldn't get off until I was desperate to sleep." 

" _You left me_ ," Susara was hissing. 

" _Sorry, beautiful. Bigger people came and took me away. I was not expecting it._ "

She went round his neck in agitated circles several times before stopping. " _Mine!_ " she hissed petulantly, and took her pose slightly too tightly. 

"I should have called her back from hunting," Harry said apologetically to Draco. "Not to --" He slid a finger under Susara's scales and she relented, loosening to a normal hold. "Not to take her, but to explain. There was just so much happening...."

"Yes, I recall," Draco said dryly. "What on earth possessed you to tell them that you'd done _that_?" 

"Well I don't want them thinking we wouldn't!"

"So you stepped in because I wasn't volunteering?" Draco sounded bitter. 

"I didn't expect you to!" Harry objected. "Ron shouldn't go after you like that." 

"He _does_ seem to think of me as your girl. I suppose it makes you less bent." 

Harry felt his brow tense. "Don't worry about what Ron thinks," he scoffed. "He doesn't understand his own relationships, never mind other people's." 

That was the right tack. Draco visibly relaxed, and his reply almost managed to be airy. "I did notice a certain scorn on the part of the other Gryffindors." 

"Let's not talk about that, please? I haven't seen him since I got back."

"He wasn't in Gryffindor?"

"I didn't go _up_ to Gryffindor. I found you first." 

"Oh!" Draco smiled, one of those rare, open smiles that made Harry's heart spin. "Hoping to make good on your little lie?" he teased. 

"Exactly!" Harry agreed, pleased at how that made Draco's eyes widen. "But I'd have needed you anyway."

"Strategy later." 

"Okay, but not for that, either." 

"Oh? What then?"

"This." Harry wrapped his arms around Draco again. Although he had expected comfort, the reality overwhelmed him. He rubbed his face against the side of Draco's neck, feeling his earlier anxiety as it melted away. "Needed this," he whispered.

The tension fell from Draco's shoulders as turned his head to catch Harry in a kiss. His hands against Harry's back were enough agreement. When Harry finally stepped back, his hand slipping down to clasp Draco's, their fingers interlaced, and with that, Harry led him to the bed. 

Draco lay down without argument, but after a pleasant interval of kissing – and undressing bit by bit -- he caught at Harry's shoulders when Harry tried to roll away onto his other side. 

"I really don't know what I'm doing. We were going to wait until after the holiday."

"You worry too much. It's sex, right? People just do it."

Draco's voice tightened. "I doubt that will work."

"Then you have nothing to worry about." Harry nuzzled Draco's arm above where it still gripped his shoulder. "Rub up against me for a little while, at least? You never do that for long enough."

"You ... you genuinely like that?"

"Yes! Why else would I lie down against you like that?"

Swallowing, Draco finally let go. "I don't know. For warmth? For me?"

"Hm." Harry knew better than to be directly reassuring when Draco sounded so fragile. "I do like you hot."

Draco's laugh was so tight with nerves as to be almost a giggle, but he let go and pushed where he had previously been holding, and Harry rolled over, wriggling back until he had Draco's cock between the cheeks of his arse. To his satisfaction, it firmed up some in the process. 

"Like this?" Draco asked, his voice trembling. His motion against Harry was almost as slight. 

"That's a start. Did you bring lube?"

"As you requested." Draco rallied enough to summon his measured drawl. "However, I will need some space to apply it." 

"Oh, all right." 

The liquid was cold, but the easy slide afterwards wonderful. Even better, Draco brought his hand around to spread the excess onto Harry's cock. 

"Is this what you want?" he asked, finally sounding aroused, with his breath hot on Harry's neck. 

"Brill," Harry answered, pressing back, and using his own motion to make it up the full length of Draco's shaft. The head caught for a moment, pressing at his entrance, but Draco, disappointingly, readjusted his position. Harry decided to wait for a few minutes and then try that maneuver again. 

After several repetitions, he caught at Draco's hip. 

"Push in a bit."

"I'll hurt you." 

"It's anything but hurting now. I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable."

"Do you promise me that?"

"I promise." 

Draco pressed, and Harry did his best to relax for the intrusion. He felt that he was stretching open, and thought Draco might have actually got in, but when Draco finally started to move again, realized it must have been nothing -- a fraction of an inch, at most. Draco went back to rubbing against him. They cycled through that, time and time again. 

"More lube." He wasn't sure how long they had been at this. Draco was near to growling with frustration. 

"This is not going to happen." 

"Push harder, then."

Irritated, Draco thrust hard, and Harry cried out in surprise. _That_ was in. 

"Sorry!"

"Stay still!" Harry snapped, reaching back to grab Draco's side. 

"I hurt you." 

"No." Harry breathed out. "It was just strange. I was startled. Now try moving, just a little -- slowly."

"You said you would tell me if it hurt!" 

"It _doesn't hurt_." As he snarled the words, the intrusion became more of a strain, and Harry tried to rein in his irritation and relax his body again. "Trust me." Why did Draco keep asking him this anyway? He used to be eager for Harry to try new things. Now he acted like Harry was submitting to torture.

Involuntarily, Harry tensed. Draco's last experience penetrating had been violent, and he hadn't been willing himself. Was this reminding him of that? Harry had been trying to take the difficult role, but Draco might have been more comfortable with being on the receiving end of things. Not only would it have been less like what he went through last year, but he would have _known_ how it was working. This way, he had to rely on Harry to tell him. Harry knew that of the two of them, Draco would have been better at words.

"Draco," he said. "It's good, okay? Really good. It's just hard to explain." 

"You sound befuddled." 

"Mm. And I feel dizzy, almost. But in the best way. Push?"

"Like this?" Draco asked, pulling back a fraction, then moving slowly in.

"That's it. Fuck me slow."

Draco giggled nervously. "You're vulgar." 

"Uh-huh. Please, Dragon?"

Compliantly, Draco drew back slowly. He hesitated before pushing in, but he didn't ask for permission again. Harry made encouraging sounds. To his annoyance, the motion began to burn. 

"More lube?" 

"Okay." Draco added enough that it dripped, but the burn eased as the next strokes spread it. Harry had been afraid the request would spook Draco, but it seemed to reassure him instead. He began moving more naturally, pushing deeper.

"Ah!" 

Draco froze, but didn't try to pull out. "Okay?" 

" _Fantastic._ Do that again." 

 

 

 

Harry went up to Gryffindor feeling well satisfied, and, to his surprise, not sore. He had expected walking afterwards to hurt -- instead, something about the motion just felt _odd_. Residual slickness from the lube, he decided, and stopped for the loo on the fourth floor. Lube coming _out_ was even more disconcerting, but there wasn't blood -- which he had apparently been afraid of, as he had looked for it -- and he felt more normal afterwards, as he continued up to Gryffindor. 

People noticed when he stepped through the portrait hole, with conversations slowing or stuttering as it closed behind him. His first thought was that they could _tell_ , but he realized immediately that was paranoia. He had been gone all last night and all morning, and some people knew why; there would probably be gossip, even without what had transpired at last night's gathering. Curiously, he looked around for Uncommon Room members. By the window, Seamus raised his eyebrows. Harry grinned, and Seamus rolled his eyes dramatically before turning back to the grey rain. Neville was watching Seamus rather than Harry, his brows furrowed. Checking by the fire, Harry spotted Hermione, and next to her, Ron, who turned away, reddening, as soon as their eyes met. 

Harry struggled to repress a smirk. Ron regretted their last conversation, did he? He watched Ron square his shoulders and look back. 

"All right then?" Ron called over, a bit too loudly.

"Never better."

Harry felt his walk loosen to a swagger, but he really couldn't help it. He crossed the room through resuming conversations. The weather had added to the winter crowding, and Hermione, beaming, squeezed over to give him space on the sofa. 

"It went well?" 

"Nearly a disaster, actually," Harry replied cheerfully. "Inquisitor Cabot gave me stronger Veritaserum than what Tonks had planned on, and her idiot partner started asking me unauthorized questions, so she stunned me, and then she and Kingsley -- her boss, I think; he was at the trial -- kept me until I was in control of my mouth again. That's why it took so long."

"And yet you didn't come back here first," Hermione chided, but she was smiling. 

"Right, mate," Ron said, more darkly. "How'd you get a Slytherin firstie to run messages for you?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Asked?" he suggested. Ron scowled.

"That prissy little china doll talked to a Muggleborn Gryffindor because you asked? That's likely." 

"You know--" 

"Well, _I_ thought she was darling," Hermione interrupted. "And she was quite polite, if you were wondering." She shot a glare at Ron, giving Harry the impression that she had not appreciated his characterization of her. Ron didn't seem to notice. Harry resolved that they should talk after dinner, which he hoped was soon. He had been too preoccupied with how his arse felt to remember his empty stomach. 

"So did it work out?" Hermione asked. "Your testimony?"

"I think so. I said what we wanted on the record, and nothing too embarrassing." He hadn't really intended look at Ron for the last word, but he was amused to see Ron develop a sudden interest in the brocade of the sofa cushions. 

As he related the publicly consumable account of his interrogation to Ron and Hermione, he noticed that Ron wasn't the only one he needed to talk to. Seamus and Neville had been joined by Cornelia, and when Parvati walked past their spot, Seamus looked away so sharply that Harry was afraid he would hurt his neck. Scanning past Parvati, he found Ginny by the tapestry of a griffin fighting a knight. She frowned pointedly, mouthing something Harry couldn't understand. 

"Excuse me," Harry said to Hermione, who was explaining the runic assignment for his Symbology class in rather more detail than he felt he needed. Ginny met him over by the northern windows, where the thick winter drapes helped absorb quiet conversation. 

"What's wrong?"

"Why are you _speaking_ to him?" she whispered furiously. 

"Ron?" Harry looked back. "It's fun watching him fidget?" he suggested. 

She snorted. "Good, but not good enough. He shouldn't get away with that."

"I thought it was its own punishment, really." Harry sighed. "But ... yeah. We should all talk. Let's meet in our place, right after dinner. Spread the word, okay?"

" _All_ of us?" she challenged.

"All of us." 

"It's your game. But I'm not inviting Parvati, or my git of a brother." 

"Fine. I will." 

They parted uncomfortably, and Harry began working his way around the room. 

 

He ate ravenously, but briefly, and ended up leaving the Great Hall after only two bites of an éclair. Arriving to the empty Uncommon Room without Draco felt odd. He caught himself hoping that Mill would show up first, before remembering that she -- a Slytherin -- hadn't been invited. 

The first arrival was actually Ron, who stumbled awkwardly to a stop just past the end of the corridor. Harry looked over from contemplating the ivy-covered rock pile, and for few seconds, they just stared at each other. 

"Are ... are we okay?" Ron's words tumbled out unevenly. Harry caught himself starting to nod. He didn't.

"In a way," he said coolly. 

"Look--" 

"Wait." Harry enforced the word with a glare. "I'm not angry, all right? But our lot is a mess, and we need to talk." 

The door opened and then closed again. "Hello?" called Neville's uncertain voice. 

"In here." 

"Hermione's with me. Is that okay?"

Harry stomped out to the hallway. 

"Harry...."

"No," he said. "Hermione, you are invited for next _Friday_ , but tonight is just for people who were here last night, understood?"

She bit her lip, but did not retreat. "I thought if everyone was upset--" 

"Upset about some things that happened last night," he said firmly. "And they don't need to go beyond the people who were there." 

For a long moment, she held his gaze, but then, without visible reservation, nodded. "All right, Harry. I trust your judgment." 

His eyes widened, but before he could say anything more, she turned and tripped out through the door. Neville breathed a sigh of relief. Ron nudged Harry. 

"Don't want her to hear about it?" he ribbed. 

Harry whirled so fast that Ron stepped back. "I thought _you_ wouldn't want her to hear about why everyone's angry with Parvati." 

"Uh..." 

"I'll tell her anything about Draco that she--" 

Neville yelped and jumped forward to avoid the swing of the door opening again. On the other side of the glass, Ginny froze, staying still and tense until Seamus gave her a shove through. Harry stepped back. 

"Not enough room here."

"I saw Hermione in the corridor," Ginny challenged.

"Yeah. I told her this wasn't the time." 

She nodded, and with a pointed glare at her brother, swept past. Sighing, Harry followed. 

"So," Ginny prompted as people cautiously chose seats, the spaces left by the absence of other houses buffering one from another. "Shall we start?"

"I don't want to repeat myself," Harry said grimly. 

Seamus laughed. "Waiting for your audience?"

"Waiting for all of _us_." 

There was silence. Neville cleared his throat. The door opened again, closing as footsteps approached. Parvati entered, with Cornelia behind her. 

"She wanted to skip out," Cornelia announced, plopping down in the chair nearest Ginny. "I told her no chance." 

Harry took a long breath. Evaluating where everyone was, he stood and moved in front of the sideboard, where they could all easily see him. He had thought about what to say, but he couldn't find a way to make it graceful. 

"Last night was a disgrace," he said plainly. 

In the intimidating silence, he pressed on. 

"In the Uncommon Room, _we_ represent Gryffindor. Yes, we have our differences, and we don't have to hide that, because it helps to be real people, but we can't be backstabbing each other in front of everyone." He scanned the room, meeting the eyes of each person. Parvati looked down. Ron coughed. "And feuding doesn't fix it," Harry continued, holding Ginny's gaze until she gave way. "Anything we need to have out, we do it _with each other_ , because I won't be showing every weakness we have to the Slytherins, is that clear?" 

Cornelia cleared her throat. 

"I didn't think you'd be _taking_ him," Ron protested. 

"That doesn't matter," Harry shot back. "I like it. What matters is that you showed all of them that it _bothers_ you, and that you're willing to make an attack of it." _And that you'll go after Draco in front of me._

"It's a point," Cornelia said, leaning back. "That's a crack to slip a knife in, isn't it?"

"Exactly," Harry said, making Ginny and Ron twitch. He thought he had been expected to argue the point -- as if the Slytherins would be offended! "And Parvati -- your opinion of Ron and Hermione's relationship should probably not have gone beyond them. If you simply _had_ to talk to their friends, that should have been done privately, one at a time." 

"You don't think he treats her well enough either," Parvati said defiantly. "You as good as said so." 

Harry ignored Ron's pleading look to him. "When put on the spot, yeah," he said. "I won't lie about it. But I shouldn't have to say that in front of Mill and Linnet, and Hufflepuffs I don't even know. Not to mention Draco, who's already protective of her." 

"Linnet?" Ron asked. 

"Hermione!" 

"I've never seen that." 

"Well you're not around people who consider her inferior, are you?" 

Ron's mouth twisted. "But you are." 

"Occasionally." Harry shrugged. "None of them are friends." 

"Are any of them members?" Seamus asked. 

"No." 

After a long moment of no one saying anything, Harry felt his shoulders start to relax down. He hadn't realized how tightly he had been holding himself. Deliberately, he let his bum rest back against the hard sideboard, fleetingly noticing that even that pressure didn't hurt. "So," he said. "Thoughts?"

Parvati shifted uneasily, but then let out a theatrical sigh. "It wouldn't be fun if we didn't ask anything embarrassing--" 

Past her, Ginny's face hardened.

"-- but you're probably right that it shouldn't be a matter of genuine strife." 

"Well put!" Cornelia exclaimed, sounding surprised. 

Parvati ignored her and turned to Seamus. "You're right," she said. "It was inappropriately catty of me, given the people present." Her mouth twitched. "Though I do think Harry got what he deserved."

"His sex life being used as a cudgel?" Cornelia burst out. 

"Oh, from _me_ , I meant!" 

Harry snorted. "That was all right. It's not like I couldn't defend myself." 

"I think 'fourteen-year-old boy' was all you needed to say," Ginny opined. She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Though Neville behaved perfectly, of course." 

"I've always been mature for my age," Neville said snootily, and then laughed before anyone else. 

"The problem is...." Seamus said. He stopped. "I mean, the problem is _not_ that the barbs were truly meant. I think a lot of it is _meant_. The problem was that both were malicious." Resentfully, he looked at across the room at Parvati. " _Catty_ doesn't half cover it."

Parvati's breath caught. "I'm _sorry_ ," she said. "It was awful of me, but--" Quite suddenly she began crying, continuing to talk between sobs. "We're not friends, you know, but I do _care_ about her--" 

"Why does everyone think I'm so awful for her?" Ron demanded. Parvati surged to her feet. 

"Because you are! You're disrespectful, and you neglect her, and--"

" _She_ seems happy enough with me!"

"Because she doesn't _expect_ anything! And you're making that worse!" 

"What?" 

"You're bad for her self-esteem," Ginny translated. "Which is true, but it's not as bad as Parvati claims, I think. Hermione is resilient." 

"So do you think she should dump me too?" Ron snarled. 

"No. I think you should grow up." Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. "I want her as a sister, so get on it." 

"Right. Well, I'll give that the weight it deserves."

"As well you should."

Deciding he wasn't running this any more, Harry took the few steps to the seat nearest Ron -- the other end of Neville's sofa -- and sat down. 

"Haven't the Slytherins gone after each other?" Ron asked defensively. 

"Not really."

"There was that time with Bulstrode and Draco," Ginny objected. 

"Right, but not nearly so bad. Especially as she likes him now." 

"And it was a little kid thing." 

"And it was envious," Parvati said shakily. She had curled her legs up next to herself on the sofa, and paused to blow her nose. "That _gave_ him power, more than took it." 

"Right." Harry hadn't thought of it that way, but now that Parvati pointed it out, it was obvious. "And it was an old resentment that was probably best to have out in fun. That would be like me needling Ron about his family, or him going after me about being famous."

"What's wrong with my family?" Ron demanded. 

"Nothing. They're brilliant. And I have to try to appreciate them and not be jealous." 

"My dad was _killed_."

"But you had him until you were fifteen." Harry lifted his hands in apology. "It's not fair of me. It was horrible for you. I _know_ that. It was a bad example." Uncomfortable with that thought, he turned his attention back to Parvati. "And that's another thing. You also didn't care what it would do to people you don't know. Draco and Blaise had gone back to being friends, and you mucked that up. He says Blaise still isn't really meeting his eyes when they need to speak to each other." 

"And I suppose I got Sophia too," Ron offered.

Parvati snorted. "Don't worry about that. She's practically preening about how _experimental_ she is." She looked down. "And ... yes, I admit that I hadn't thought about the people I didn't know."

Ron snorted. "Well, you had to have been less surprised than I was!" 

 

They lingered there for a while, talk turning to safer things, like Linnet's diplomacy, and what Draco's eleventh birthday party must have been like from the little they knew. When the others left, Harry was pleased to see Seamus relent when Parvati caught his arm. For his own part, he motioned to Ron to stay. He waited till the door closed behind Cornelia's voice to speak. 

"I expect you didn't want to talk about it in front of the others, but maybe we should." 

"I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, but I think you're sorry about embarrassing me, which you didn't." It was only slightly a lie. "I want you to apologize for trying to humiliate my boyfriend, even if the humiliation is all in your thick head." 

"I..." Ron shrugged. "I don't get it, okay?" 

"You don't get to attack Draco. Do you get _that_?"

Biting his lip, Ron nodded. "All right. Understood."

"Good." Harry scooped up his bag. "Let's go back to Gryffindor before Hermione comes after us." 

 

 

The rest of the week was relatively quiet. Sunday was the last day brewing with Millicent for the term. That should have been a relief, but the end of the session left Harry feeling lonely in advance. Monday started with a letter from Tonks, telling Harry that Auror Mason was on disciplinary suspension, and that the Pettigrew investigation had been officially sanctioned and would have more resources. Tuesday, a short note from Sirius explained that he had gone deeper into hiding for the first stage of that, and after their practical with McGonagall, Harry and Draco skipped dinner to explore their new bed sport. Draco started with his fingers, which made it easier, and they were both less awkward, and Harry thought they both enjoyed it more. He returned to Gryffindor just in time to avoid Hermione's disapproval. 

 

"Sorry," Harry said. 

"Not your fault, I suppose." Draco made a face. "Though much more what I feared of the enterprise initially." 

It was Friday, and they had met in the Chamber after classes. Harry couldn't deny that this last attempt had smelled awful. 

"It might be-- I, er, haven't been feeling well today."

Draco glared. "And you did not think to mention this?" 

"Tomorrow is your 'no fun' day. And I haven't actually been _ill_ \-- just, you know, off." 

"Which is apparently relevant. In the future, you will tell me." 

"Agreed," Harry said quickly. He reached out to set a hand on Draco's blanket-covered leg. "Would you like ... well, something else?" 

"I'm not in the mood," Draco snapped, but when Harry flinched back, he smiled. "Sorry. I expect I'll have recovered by the end of the meeting. Though I'd want a bath, first."

"After curfew then?" 

Draco frowned. "Or perhaps I can bathe while you have dinner." 

That seemed a pity to miss, now that Harry was thinking about it. "I have a better idea."

"I will not be interested in _anything_ until I am clean."

"Right, but why do it alone? We could go to the Prefects' bathroom after the meeting," Harry suggested.

Draco's eyes widened. "What if someone walks in us?" He looked thrilled as much as alarmed. Harry grinned. 

"I'll bring my invisibility cloak. You have the right to be there."

"Hm." An attractive flush had returned to Draco's cheeks. "The idea does have merit. Shall we go to the kitchens now, in that case? Or do you not feel well enough for food?"

"I think food will be fine. I'll just ask for something bland." 

 


	34. Risks

 

"Is Hermione coming?" Draco asked. His hand brushed against Harry's, perhaps by chance, as he stepped through the mirror. 

"No." Harry shrugged. "I told her it might be better to wait a week -- that there had been a bit of a row last time, and we needed to work some things out." 

"How predictably uncreative."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'honest.'" 

"Well, I suppose that makes it somewhat more unexpected." 

Draco was carrying a covered platter of little tarts and cakes, so rather than bumping him off-balance, Harry stuck his tongue out at him. Draco smirked, and began setting out the treats for that evening's gathering. The pastries were glazed, or adorned with swirls of brittle chocolate -- dark, creamy white, tinted -- and tiny jewel-like berries. 

"Should we worry about the House Elves?" Harry wondered aloud. 

Draco paused with a fingertip of spilled cream filling half-way to his lips. "Why?" 

"The pastries have become a lot more decorative in the last few weeks. I think they know we're going to ask."

"Oh, that!" Draco's brow creased for a moment, and then cleared. "No, I don't believe so," he said airily. "You're right that they have come to anticipate it, and they will tell if asked, but no one will ask them, and if they do, it's not damning in and of itself. Except for Dobby, they don't know where we bring them." He frowned again, minutely. "We might want to arrange a decoy location, though, in case we are questioned." 

They had settled on the blue sofa -- exchanging light touches, but not yet kissing -- when they heard the door open. Padma, Harry reflected, sounded like Parvati on a Calming Draught -- the intonation just a little too regular to fade into the background of everyday voices. He heard Sophia answer her, but Luna drifted in before them. 

Harry smiled in greeting, not really expecting her to notice. 

"Hello," Luna said, walking directly towards them. Her eyes widened. "Are you okay, Harry, Draco?"

Behind her, Padma winced, but Harry just nodded. "We're fine, Luna."

Luna set her head to the side and turned slightly towards Draco. "Are you?"

"Why ask?"

"I don't think it counts when people answer for each other. He doesn't really know, of course, even if you both think he does." 

Draco studied her like she was a difficult runic overlay. "He's right," he said finally. "I'm fine."

Luna bounced, beaming. "How wonderful!" She skipped across to the white sofa and sat down. "I'd miss playing with all of you." 

"I don't think we should have the game tonight," Padma objected. "In a few weeks, maybe."

"It _might_ put people on edge," Draco agreed wryly. 

"Perhaps we could play something else?" Harry suggested. "I mean, random conversation could be worse, right now." 

"What did you have in mind? Exploding Snap?" 

"Something like that, I suppose," Harry said, ignoring Sophia's sarcasm, "but maybe less simple." He thought glumly of Parcheesi. "I have a set of glass balls with horses."

"Balls and horses?"

"Moonherd, he means, I think." 

"I don't know what they're called. Sirius sent them to me, and said there were games, but I've never learnt any." 

Padma shook her head. " _Sirius Black_ sends you presents."

"Yes. And advice. Godfathers do that, as I understand."

Her cheeks rounded as she smiled. "It's just so strange." 

 

Harry ended up running up to Gryffindor for the Moonherd set, and Draco went off to get Gilbert's, and his own lightning cloud, which he declared would make a fine obstacle. By the time he got back, other people had come and left again to fetch other things. They ended up with three sets of the balls, which meant six people could control a horse, and in the resulting chaos, Harry was never quite certain what the rules were, but he had accumulated a decent clutch of the balls before Linnet figured out how to lure the lightning cloud toward specific opponents and swept the field. 

Harry handed control of his Abraxan over to Susan Bones and plopped down next to Mill to check out the card game she was playing with Blaise, Ginny, and Caradog. 

"Can I join?" 

"Sorry," Blaise said absently, as he watched Mill's play. "It's a partner game." 

With a flinch, he looked up. Harry bit his lip. 

"Er ... Are we okay?"

"Yeah. Fine." 

Harry nodded awkwardly. He thought Blaise was _trying_ to mean it, even if he didn't, and perhaps that was enough for this week. "Good," he said.

 

On Saturday, a school owl landed by Harry's eggs and toast. The letter was from Snape, and listed materials he wanted Harry to review before their afternoon meeting on Sunday. Harry looked around for Draco, but he had apparently already left, or possibly not arrived yet. Sighing, Harry tucked the assignment into his pocket. He hoped it made more sense than the last one. 

 

The assigned text was indecipherable, and Draco didn't show up to lunch. Harry scowled at his plate. As if having a _boyfriend_ wasn't enough trouble in itself, he had to go fall for someone studious, who got distracted by schoolwork. 

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, catching his sleeve. Harry blinked, realizing he had been stabbing his pie repeatedly. 

"An assignment," he admitted. "Would you help me with it after lunch?" 

Ron elbowed him hard.

"Or whenever you have time," Harry added grudgingly.

"What sort of help?"

"I just want advice on the text. It might as well be Gobbledygook, for all the sense I can make of it."

"I'd be happy to take a look. Will this evening do?"

Ron gave a curt, but tiny, nod.

"That'd be fine."

He had said the right thing. Both of them smiled. Harry managed not to sigh. He supposed he had better work on his Charms assignment until then, and hope that Draco was free tomorrow. The ceiling of the Great Hall was clouded by grey sleet. 

 

At breakfast on Sunday, another school owl, nondescript except for being rather small, brought him a note on a rolled piece of parchment. 

  


_Mr. Potter,_

_I expect you at my office at 9:00. Do not be late._

_Professor Snape_

  


Harry wondered if this was about the training session they had scheduled for afternoon. Had Snape needed to change the time? He looked over to see if Draco had received a note as well, but couldn't see him at the Slytherin table. Draco didn't want him alone with Snape, but he couldn't object to it if Harry had been summoned, could he? 

It suddenly occurred to him that the message might be _about_ Draco, whom he hadn't seen since Friday night. What if he was missing because something was wrong? What if he had been injured, or called home? 

He looked up at the staff table, and found Snape watching him. Eyes narrowing, the man gave him a curt nod before turning his attention to his eggs. Harry thought back frantically to the last time he had heard the clock strike. He thought it had been the half-hour, which would give him time to run upstairs and check the _Liber Geminus_ , but he wasn't sure.

"Hermione? Do you know what time it is?" 

"A little past half-nine," she said absently, and then looked up. "Harry? What's wrong?"

"Oh, just got called to Snape's office," he said casually. "No clue why, though. I have just about enough time to run up to Gryffindor first." 

"Too bad!" Ron said sympathetically. 

"Let me know when you're back," Hermione said, more evenly. "And don't forget your promise."

 

The _Liber Geminus_ had no new entries since Cursebreaking on Friday, so Harry went to Snape's office with no better idea of why. Just in case, he brought his school bag with the materials for both his afternoon meeting with Snape and his morning meeting with McGonagall. 

"Sir?" 

Snape certainly looked annoyed, but not distraught -- or rather, in the sort of spitting fury that Harry imagined would cover for distraught in his case. 

"Shut the door, Potter."

Harry did, and then stepped forward. "Er, is Draco okay?" 

Snape glared. "Why wouldn't he be?" 

"I just ... I haven't seen him. And we're due here this afternoon--"

"Draco has been a bit under the weather, but he will be fine. He eventually found urination painful enough to consult Madam Pomfrey."

"Urin-- What? What happened?"

"I have no idea," Snape said blandly. He sneered. "How curious that he should have a condition that among our sex is usually restricted to babies left in a soiled nappy." 

Harry deciphered this. "Uh--"

"Do _not_ confess anything, Harry."

Biting his lip, Harry nodded. Snape continued in the same bored tone. 

"Certainly, unprotected anal intercourse _can_ lead to this ailment in an uncircumcised man, but even then, it is uncommon, and the Head Boy would hardly be so careless about behaviors unacceptable to the school."

"Got it," Harry forced out. Maybe he wasn't quite as red as he felt. 

"Of course," Snape added, genuinely scowling now, " _you_ , Potter, with your complete lack of regard for your safety, are another matter." Prowling around his desk, Snape advanced on Harry like a stalking wolf. "Perhaps you would even be willing to be on the receiving end of such an activity, one highly conducive to the transfer of numerous diseases, including at least two curse-enhanced viral strains that are uncomfortable, humiliating, and take considerable time to recover from, even with prompt treatment."

Harry didn't think he could say anything. However, Snape apparently read his expression correctly. 

"Did you even _know_ that?"

"Um, no, sir." 

"Merlin's balls, Potter, couldn't you buy a book?" 

By gritting his teeth, Harry kept from sputtering incoherence. "Where?" he said, when he could manage. "In Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, you could _in Hogsmeade_. You might find it embarrassing, but less so than ending up with miniature penile horns on your head." Snape coughed. "That is one of the curse ones; it is quite old, but as it only affects men, clearly unnatural in origin." 

"I actually looked in the bookshop, and I didn't find anything." 

"Did you _ask_?" 

Harry turned his head. 

"Of course not," Snape sneered. "You wouldn't mar your image with such tawdry purchases, would you?" He drew himself up at the edge of Harry's vision. "If you could not bring yourself to consult the shopkeeper, Remus Lupin would have been a reasonable alternative. He is tolerant of rule-breaking in general, and particularly indulgent of you."

"Oh, so there's a _rule_?" Harry snapped, twisting back to face him. "A secret one?"

"A _deducible_ one." 

"We're adults." 

"Yes. However, you are also _students_ , and that takes precedence at school." Briskly, Snape turned back to his desk. "Now. You are going to write a letter to the werewolf requesting pertinent educational information. I have quill and parchment ready for you."

"What!" Harry yelped. His face was burning again. "Are you punishing me for something you say I didn't do?" he asked shakily. 

"I am not _punishing_ you, you idiotic brat. I am requiring you to do what you ought to have done of your own accord."

"It's not your business."

"It is _my spellson_ that you are playing with so cavalierly, and a student in my house." Snape leaned close enough that Harry could smell fish on his breath from breakfast. "As Madame Pomfrey related her suspicions about _him_ to _me_ , she would likewise have done so to Professor McGonagall for you, had I not said I would handle the matter."

Harry blanched. 

Snape drew himself up to his full height, which at least gave Harry a few more inches of space. "I can and _will_ rescind that offer if I consider it warranted."

"Oh." Harry looked away for a moment. "Sorry, I'll—" Humiliating as this was from Snape, he couldn't imagine going through it with Professor McGonagall. "Well, thanks, then." 

"Perhaps I should have clarified that earlier," Snape answered. 

"I didn't think there was any danger from, um, the other end of things." 

Snape glanced heavenward. "And you must, of course, be the Gryffindor. Now do something genuinely courageous – write." 

 

Harry sat at the small desk and stared at the paper. Several minutes later, all he had written was "Dear Remus." He twisted to look at Snape, who was marking essays. 

"Sir? Are you going to read this?"

Snape did not look up. "Of course not. I believe I have explained the importance of my ignorance." 

"Okay." 

Harry was several lines into the letter, quill scratching against the parchment, before Snape spoke again. 

"I do, you understand, interact with the werewolf on a distressingly regular basis. I will find out soon enough if that letter does not contain the mandated request." 

"I wasn't going to cheat!" 

Snape's eyebrows lifted in a moment of incredulity, before his expression cleared. "As long as we understand one another." 

 

_Dear Remus,_

_Professor Snape is a git. He is making me write you to ask for a book on sex – you know, avoiding diseases and such – because he's afraid I'm doing stuff with Draco. Well, okay – I am, actually, and he's pretending not to be certain, which is actually decent of him, but you'd think if there was a book, he could just get it for me himself, or give me a title for owl order or something. I think he just wants to embarrass me more, because calling me on the carpet in private isn't entertaining enough. Anyway, would you get me something like that, and not get me in trouble over it? I think he thinks I'd rather ask the twins, but you know what they'd be like!_

_Other than that, things are all right here. Our project with Professor McGonagall is going well, and I'm getting to know a few other non-Gryffindors – Hufflepuffs, even! A bunch of us had a sort of games night on Friday, and I finally learned something to play with the Moonherd set – three of them together, actually. Draco says he'll teach me another when it's just us, and I have more attention for rules._

_I hope you are well, and that Snuffles gets to come back soon._

_\-- Harry_

  


He could feel his bag warming against his leg. Draco had written in the Liber Geminus. Surreptitiously, Harry tapped the spine to keep it quiet, and then quickly folded and sealed his letter. 

"May I go now, sir? I should send this." 

"See that you do," Snape returned, not looking up. "And I expect you on time and prepared, this afternoon." 

"Right." At Snape's sudden glare, Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir." 

"Get out." When Harry had his hand on the door, Snape added, "And be glad I find you preferable to the other cretins he might consider a dalliance with."

Choking back inadvisable laughter, Harry hurried out.

 

In accordance with Draco's message, Harry hurried down to the Chamber of Secrets. Draco was there, sprawled across the furry plastic sofa, playing with the lightning cloud. He looked over when Harry entered, and then back up to the floating toy. Harry got no further acknowledgement when he crossed over, so he sat on the floor by Draco's head, with his legs tucked over to one side. 

"Hi."

"Hello," Draco said sullenly, pointing his wand at the cloud. 

"Um ... Sorry?"

"I expect you to manage something better than that." 

Harry took a long breath. He was not going to fight. Draco had the right to do this to him. He took a moment to construct his thoughts. "You were right," he said deliberately, "and I'm sorry. I'd assumed I was the only one who could get hurt." 

Draco's eyes matched the cloud as he glared. "And that was acceptable?"

"Well, I thought I'd know if something was going wrong before it got too bad." 

With a sniff, Draco looked back at his waiting toy. "It was humiliating," he complained. 

"No argument there! Snape talked to me, you know, and said I was lucky it wasn't McGonagall." 

Draco snorted. 

"And he made me write to Remus to request a book."

"Lupin!" Draco squeaked. 

"He's a logical choice, really." 

"Yes, but..." Draco shuddered. "I don't want him knowing about my sex life!"

"It wasn't as if I gave him details," Harry protested. 

"Aren't you embarrassed by it at all? I am." 

"Well, yes. Quite a lot, actually. My face felt like I'd been hit with a burning hex when Snape was talking to me. But now it's over with, right? And no one's punished us, or hexed us to not be able to touch each other, and I expect Remus will come through, and we'll know some useful charms in time for the Christmas holidays."

That won him a little smile from Draco. "Are you looking forward to that?"

"What, having you to myself for two weeks? Of course!" 

"I am as well. It _will_ be just you? Your Gryffindor friends are going home again?" 

"Well...." Harry thought about it. "They haven't said. I'd expect Ron will, at least."

"They are still –" Draco stopped, his face scrunching up. "Sorry, but their relationship confuses me. She is not formally promised to him, correct?"

"No. I mean, right. She's not." 

"But he did invite her home last year, and she did accept."

"That's not some pureblood code, is it? Because she'd have no idea." 

"No, not that. It's not a _pledge_. But if he doesn't do the same this year, I would expect her to have the sense to move on." 

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But he might invite her and she might not accept." 

"Then _he_ should move on." 

"Not because—I mean, she might think she should stay and keep me out of trouble. Considering last year, you know." 

"Ah!" Draco's face cleared. "I'll have a talk with her, then. She has nothing to fear, really." 

"You intend to spend the holiday revising?"

"I intend to spend the holiday in harmless enjoyment of your company." 

Harry grinned. "That sounds fantastic." 

Draco blushed. "I realized that I've-- we've stopped--" He swung his legs down to sit up. "Because we cannot go places, we're always with friends or down here. Only our sexual activities are ones that we could not indulge in the public mixed house space. I don't know what to do about it."

"We could go flying."

Draco winced. "It's a bit cold." 

"Draco! Do you _remember_ last year?" 

Draco's sudden smile spread unusually broad, for him. "Of course! But I hadn't thought of it." 

Conspicuously, Harry inched closer. "And I could warm you up _much_ better now."

"No sex!" Draco chided, but cheerily. "At least no buggery, until we get the book, although I gather I was exceptionally unlucky, or you were more ill than you let on." 

"I probably was," Harry admitted. "I didn't want you to think I was putting you off." 

"And thus you succeeded in doing exactly that," Draco retorted wryly. "You're a Gryffindor! Be honest, as your nature intended, and leave the modifications to me." 

Harry laughed. "Oh, you know better." 

Draco's teasing manner subsided. "I know you _can_ lie," he answered seriously. "I also know that you are happier when you do not."

"Isn't everybody?"

Draco sniffed. "Hush. And come and sit with me. I want a pillow." 

When they left for the Transfiguration classroom, Draco's hair was messy in back from lying in Harry's lap. Harry couldn't bring himself to mention it, and have Draco comb away the reminder. 

 

"You're cheery today," Hermione commented as she took a helping of carrots. "Was the visit with Professor Snape just to discuss your official project?"

"Not exactly." Harry looked around at their housemates. Dean and Seamus were animatedly arguing about the value of Muggle sport, while Parvati rolled her eyes. Neville was trying to look interested in that, but Harry suspected that he had heard Hermione's question. Any mention of Snape tended to get Neville's attention. He nudged Hermione under the table. "I'll tell you later. Where's Ron?" 

She sniffed. "Searching for _sources_ for an essay he should have started on Thursday." 

"You're not helping?"

"Not when he told me yesterday that it was under control. He hadn't even decided on a thesis!" 

Harry laughed. "This is why Draco usually schedules Sunday away from me. He puts the finishing touches on things, and I get my work done."

She sighed, but her cheeks dimpled. "So I gather you'll be revising after dinner, rather than listening to me complain?" 

"Not this week. He was gone all Saturday, you'll recall, and you were off with Ron, and it was too wet to fly, so I'm actually finished. I think you can claim me for the evening." 

 

They went to the Uncommon Room, walking in companionable silence where the hallways were crowded, and talking about lessons where other students passed them only occasionally. She stood aside when it was time to reach through the mirror, and followed him in as a guest. 

"This really is quite lovely." She trailed a hand over the stone sideboard, on her way to the sofas, where she hesitated. 

"This one." Harry dropped into his favorite and patted the worn cushion beside him. "It's the comfiest." 

She joined him, tucking her feet up behind her. "It's chilly in here."

"No grate," he answered, with a shrug. "But it's better when there are more people. Stand up for a moment, and I'll throw a Warming charm on the sofa."

When they sat back down after the charm, she giggled. "That's cozy, but peculiar." 

"Like sitting on a hippogriff," he agreed. 

"That's it! It feels alive." 

"Even more so in the chamber, on our wolf-fur one." 

"Is that why you thought to use a Warming charm? Because it's cold there?" 

"It started with Draco, I think. The Slytherins do it fairly often. He says when the lake gets churned up by a storm, the common room gets chilly, at least in the corners away from the fire." Harry grinned. "I told him that's why the tower has no corners." 

"Hm." She leaned easily against him. "It makes me envious, sometimes."

"What?" 

"How comfortable the two of you are with each other. You started out so much further apart than Ron and I did. How do you manage it?"

Harry tensed. "I'm not sure we do, really. I mean sometimes, but I'm not sure how it would work outside of school. And you and Ron have bigger gaps than you did as children, I think."

"Hm?" She tilted her head back to look questioningly at him.

"Well, you're much more ... well, modern. And you have things you want to accomplish."

She sighed. "And he doesn't, you mean." 

"Not yet, anyway."

Nodding glumly, she straightened, pulling away enough to turn toward him. "And what about you?"

"What do I want to do?"

"No -- what's happened between you and Ron? He's been thoroughly odd about you, recently." 

Harry coughed. "Um, since a week ago Friday?"

"Harry? What did you do?"

"What did _I_ do?" Harry exclaimed indignantly. "It's what he did!"

"But you're not upset at him, as far as I can tell." Hermione's eyes narrowed as she thought. "Though Ginny is. Is that related?"

"Yes." Harry grinned. "He asked Draco and me -- in front of a lot of people, when we couldn't get away -- which of us took it up the arse."

"What! I hope you told him to mind his own business!"

"No, worse." Harry lifted his chin. "I told him _I_ did." 

For a moment, Hermione's eyes just widened. Quite suddenly, she began to laugh. "Oh dear! He didn't take that well, I gather?"

"No. As far as can tell, he only asked because he thought it would be Draco, and thought he'd be embarrassed." 

"Idiot," Hermione said fondly. For a moment, she was silent. "Though to be honest, I hadn't thought you'd done that yet."

Harry could feel the muscles in his face twitching as he tried not to laugh. 

"Honestly," he confessed, "we hadn't." 

She did laugh. "And you couldn't just _say_ that?"

"He'd think I didn't want to, or something, instead of just that Draco was being cautious."

"Well, I suppose he won't want details," she mused. "But this was the group I pulled you out of, for...?"

"Right."

"Pavarti might--"

"So I made sure I _had_ done before I saw any of them again." 

"Oh." Hermione's amusement drained away, and she studied Harry with her mouth tightening. "That doesn't seem like a good reason to, well, _do_ something with someone." 

"But I'd wanted to before," Harry said earnestly. "Like I said, the delay was Draco being cautious. He thought we should have a book first, or something." He bit his lip, shrugging. "As it turns out, he was probably right. I mean, _I_ was fine, so I think we were sensible enough to be careful, but we did it when I had, you know, a bit of a stomach problem, and that apparently gave him an infection." 

Hermione covered her face with her hands. "Harry! You were doing that _bare_?"

Harry blinked. Were they talking about the same thing? He didn't think he had been subtle. "Er. I don't think that would work with clothes on." 

He could tell from her ragged laugh that he'd said something absurd. She caught it quickly, covering with the same polite smile she had used when explaining to Draco that you could call someone you hadn't previously met on a telephone, so they were more like grates on the Floo network than like message charms. "A Muggle your age would know I was talking about a--" she paused. "A latex covering for your -- well, his -- penis." 

He shrugged, hoping the strange light obscured his blush. "Wizards have charms, I think."

"But you didn't use one."

"Er, we don't know any? But Madam Pomfrey taught Draco a cleaning charm, and Snape made me ask Remus for a book--"

"And you couldn't ask _me_ for a book?" She stood up. "Come with me. What I've got is for witches, so it won't cover everything, but there is at least basic safety information. Honestly!" 

"I don't think there's any rush--" 

"Until next time you can't wait a few hours!" she retorted. Her face softened. "I should be back in my room anyway, as you pointed out last year."

Harry pushed his fringe back, and then tugged it down again. "Promise you won't read it with me?"

She giggled. "I promise. You can just slip it in your bag for later."

"A sex book for witches?" he complained, as he followed her towards the door. "What if it falls out?"

"You know Concealment charms." 

 

He stayed at her side on the way to her room, putting on a bit of a swagger, and trying not to feel like a puppy at heel. By the time they were crossing the Gryffindor Common Room, it had almost worked. Ron was leaning over a table, scribbling furiously on a smudged length of parchment. Harry flashed him a smile when he looked up, but from Ron's answering scowl, thought it might have come across as a smirk. By that point, though, Hermione's door was closing behind them. 

"Is something wrong?"

He shrugged. "I think Ron thought I was taunting him." 

"Let him," she said tartly. "Perhaps he'll do his work, next week." 

"I wouldn't count on it!" 

He had met it as a joke, but she turned away, shoulders slumped. He laid a hand on her back, settling it into the thick wool of her winter robe. "Hermione?" he whispered.

She turned into his arms, and he held her firmly, as if she were crying, rather than breathing evenly into his collar. They were heavy, slow breaths, meant to force control, he thought. He stayed still, as one side of his neck warmed, and her back began to rise less with each inhalation. Finally, she looked up, her face pink, but not wet. 

"I don't think I want a Slytherin," she said quietly, "but a Ravenclaw might be nice." 

"Or a Hufflepuff," he suggested, forcing a lightness he didn't feel. "You'd appreciate diligence and care, I think." 

Sighing, she stepped away and moved to sit on the bed. "And loyalty." 

"Ron's loyal in his way," Harry argued. "Not from day to day, always, but solid in the long term." 

She nodded. "I'm just tired of it being so unpredictable. Is he speaking to me, at the moment? Is he speaking to you? I shouldn't need to evaluate that all the time. Mum says it might just be teenage hormones, but I don't know." 

Harry plopped down next to her, making the mattress bounce. "I think both of you should ignore your mothers."

Startled, she turned towards him. "Does Mrs. Weasley have advice about me?"

"Yeah. She thinks children will settle you down." 

"Settle me down!" Hermione's face scrunched. "I'm not some sort of wild playgirl." 

"Make you more domestic, that is," Harry explained quickly. "I told him I thought you'd always be interested in research and social issues, no matter how many kids you had." 

"Well, of course I will!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly. She sighed. "Do you think we'd be better off as friends? No, don't answer that. You've already told me you do. Though it's not as if you don't have spats with him just as often." 

"We have some bad weeks," Harry agreed. "But it's not as big a deal, now, when they start or smooth out. I do think we'll stay friends, and I think you and he will stay friends, even if you break off with him." 

"And you think I should." 

"Maybe? I don't think either of you is going to change much. Are you happy now?"

One of her shoulders rose in a shrug, but unexpectedly, she smiled. "When it's good," she confided, taking his hand, "it's _very_ good. He can be so thoughtful--"

Her door moved, and she flinched away from Harry as it opened. 

"Mind if I join you?" Ron asked flatly. Hermione stood. 

"That depends. Is your work done?"

"More or less." 

"You mean 'no.'"

Ron scowled. "It's not your business, is it? It's my assignment." 

"As Head Girl, promoting academic achievement is part of my duties. You may not join us." 

Harry rubbed his forehead. He wouldn't react well himself to that, and Ron--

"You're not my mum, Hermione!" 

"True," Hermione answered tightly, her chin rising. "I cannot make you do your work. I realize that. However, I also have no obligation to socialize with you when you haven't." 

"You're my girlfriend!" 

"That's _not_ an obligation."

"It bloody well ought to be!" 

Harry dug his fingers into his arm. The use of force, and the pain from it, was enough to keep him from shouting at them to shut up. They needed to have this fight. He had _wanted_ them to have this fight. He could not expect it to be painless. 

The room had gone silent. When Hermione spoke, the tremor in her voice belied her cool tone. 

"We appear to have a difference of opinion. Please leave my room." 

"Hermione...." Ron began pleadingly. Hermione bit her lip. Harry could see the swell of a tear in the near corner of her eye. He stood and stepped forward. 

"Go and finish your work, Ron," he said quietly. 

"Don't _you_ start that!"

"She's asked you to leave her alone for the evening. You ought to be able to do that." 

"She shouldn't ask me that!" 

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "Do I lose all my right to privacy as your girlfriend?"

"Well, it's not like you're doing anything, or want to be _alone_." A hard chop of his hand toward Harry illustrated the second point. 

"But I don't want to be with you!"

"Then you don't really care about me, do you?"

Hermione had tears on her face, now, and her eyes were turning pink, but she looked furious. Ron, red-faced, was standing with his fists clenched at his sides. 

"Hold," Harry called, the word breaking out of his throat as if he were leading a Defense exercise. He didn't know why he had chosen dueling language, but it seemed to work, in that they paused, rather than turning the anger on him. He rubbed the line of crescent-shaped indentations on his arm. "I have an idea," he said, trying to sound friendly. "Why don't you both write out a list of what you think is entailed in being a boyfriend or girlfriend -- separate them out into obligations and things you just want -- and give them to each other? Then you can decide what you need to work out." 

Ron looked mutinous. Hermione nodded. 

"I think that's a good idea."

Ron scowled. "I think Harry can't give me assignments." 

"It's not for me!" Harry protested. "It's for the two of you! Do you think I enjoy seeing the two of you fight all the time?"

"Well, you certainly haven't made it easier!

That was too much. "I CAN"T DO THAT! It's your fucking relationship. How could I fix it for you?"

"Then don't give advice! What do you know? You're with that oily, ferret-faced Slytherin, getting fucked before you get left." 

Harry didn't even consider his wand. He dove at Ron, swinging with a fist for Ron's face. He felt the hard crunch of it landing -- off target on a firm shoulder. Ron kept moving. Seizing Harry's arm, he pulled him into a punch to the gut.

Pain exploded from the impact. 

Susara shrieked. 

Harry dropped to the floor, curling protectively over her. 

"Stop!" he choked.

"What, is that all you can take?" Ron taunted.

"Susara!" The scream in his head had stopped. He couldn't feel her.

Since Ron held off, Harry unfolded, frantically pulling off his robes. Someone helped with yanking them clear, and hands were scrabbling at his shirt as he undid buttons. The shirt fell open at a charm from Hermione. It was Ron who pulled it away. Susara spasmed weakly, and Harry just managed to catch her as she slipped off him. A back section of her body was crushed. He wasn't sure if the low constant whine was from her or from him. She was dying.

"Crap. Har--"

" _Stabilis!_ " 

Hermione shoved Harry, Susara's mangled body suddenly stiff in his hands, toward the door. "That will prevent damage from progressing for ten minutes. Get her to Madam Pomfrey -- she can help animals."

Harry started for the door and stumbled. Fire shot through his abdomen. 

"I'll take her." Ron held out his hands. "I'm faster, and you're hurt. Hermione, help Harry follow me -- Pomfrey needs to look at him too." 

Harry cradled Susara. "But you don't like--" 

"Time limit, Harry! She's _yours_. I'll take care of her." 

Harry thrust the stiff snake at Ron, who took off like a shot. 

"Stay clear!" his voice echoed back from the Common Room. Standing was impossible. Harry crumpled to his knees. "Emergency!" 

"He really will do his best, Harry," Hermione said, dabbing at his face. He was crying. He hadn't known. "Can you stand?" 

Apparently, he couldn't. He heard another incantation of _Stabilis_.

 


	35. Winter

 

"That's it, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey said, her voice loud and close. "Straighten out so I can examine you." 

People loomed over him in all directions. He couldn't uncurl. Pain burned like a knife in his gut. At a gesture from the mediwitch, something gripped his legs, tight as Devil's Snare, pulling them straight, and the knife twisted up. His upper body tried to rise instead -- hurts, hurts, hurts! -- but a weight slammed forward, pinning each shoulder. Bludger? Hands. The smooth tip of a wand flicked over his bare stomach, dancing to a singsong patter of incantation. The blinding haze of pain began to clear. Broad hands. He looked up past the pale hairs of one arm to Ron's pale face. 

"Susara?"

"She's well enough, Mr. Potter. Lie still!" 

Silently, Ron nodded, easing to one side, though he still pressed down there. Hermione, beside him, twisted her hands in her robe. The wand rested in one spot now, as the mutter of spellwork resumed. 

Harry looked desperately at Hermione. He wanted to believe Madam Pomfrey, but he couldn't imagine that she would heal a snake before a student. 

Hermione caught his hand and squeezed it. "You'll be okay." 

The pain had grown shallower, if wider. Everything ached, but lying flat had stopped being impossible, and the grip on his ankles eased as he stopped pulling against it. He dimly registered that Seamus, not vines or ropes, was attached to that effort, and then he focused anew on Hermione. "Susara?" His voice was as rough as the scrape of it leaving his throat. 

"She's _fine_ ," Hermione said emphatically. "Madam Pomfrey healed her before we got here." 

" _Your_ organs are a tad more complex," Pomfrey tucked her wand away. "Now, _don't move_. I've mended the rupture, but it's fragile yet, and you need something to counter the toxins." She bustled away, moving out of Harry's line of sight, but he could hear the clink of glass bottles close behind his head. 

Ron tugged on his ear as he looked down. "Sorry, mate." 

Madam Pomfrey tsked as she passed him. "I heard that, Mr. Weasley." A putrid smell filled Harry's nostrils as she moved a small glass toward him. "Don't try to sit up, dear. It will go down as it should." 

When she tipped the hideous glop into his mouth, that seemed unbelievable, but her wand was at his neck, and thick slime oozed steadily down his throat. He couldn't even grimace until her wand lifted away. 

"Now!" she demanded, turning on Ron. "Did _you_ do this?"

"We were mucking about," Harry said quickly. The breath he took hurt, and the room wavered. "Jus' bad lu'," he continued, fighting a suddenly thick and uncooperative tongue. From the ooze, perhaps. 

Hermione glared, but her expression cleared as Madam Pomfrey turned her head. 

"Miss Granger?"

"I didn't actually see, Madam Pomfrey. It happened very fast." 

"Well, it is lucky for both of them that you knew that spell." Madam Pomfrey went on to say something about permanent damage, but Harry could barely keep his eyes open. 

"M'snake?"

Hermione made a fond noise that might have been a word, and levitated an owl cage over to float beside Harry's bed. It had obviously been charmed to prevent the torclinde's slender body from passing between the bars; she was looping back and forth in visible distress. 

"Le'er ou'" Harry slurred. His lids dipped down and he forced them up again. Susara was on his chest, lying still. Hermione had apparated to the other side of the bed. "Galle'n." 

"Right," Ron sighed. "I'll ... ferret." 

Susara's coils settled more heavily as faces faded into darkness. 

 

When Harry woke again, his friends had left. Judging from the light coming in the windows, they were probably in lessons. Susara was coiled under his shirt, her head resting at the edge of his collarbone. 

_"Beautiful?"_

_"Master?"_ The loops of her body flowed over his skin with the eager hiss, and she raised the front of her body to look him in the face.

_"Are you well?"_

_"Yes."_ With a touch of hesitancy, she added, _"I cannot pose for long, today."_

" _I do not expect it._ " He raised a hand -- that didn't hurt, though he could feel some tightness across his ribs -- and stroked carefully down her silky scales. _"I put you in danger, without intent. I apologize. I am very glad you are well."_

 _"I am glad too,"_ she said cheerily. _"You were more sick. Shall I bite the long boy?"_

He chuckled. _"No. I started it."_

"Well!" said a satisfied voice, "I see my patients are awake." 

Susara's head dropped down immediately, and a bit heavily. The first was not unusual -- she knew to defer to human conversation. The clumsiness was unprecedented.

"Just," Harry answered, as two potions vials were set down on the table beside him, with the clack of glass on wood. "I'm sure she's more tired than she's letting on." 

Pomfrey nodded sympathetically. "I did the best I could with charms, but I have no potions intended for reptiles. She'll need to heal the rest the natural way." Her cheeks dimpled. "Except for the bones. You can't imagine how many ribs snakes have! I was astounded! Sixteen broken, by my diagnostic charm. The spell to align them is just the same, though, and Skelegrow, unlike most other healing potions, is suitable for any vertebrate. Fortunately, there was minimal damage to organs; an inch higher and one might have been destroyed, which I daresay would have been beyond me." 

Harry closed his eyes. His teeth pressed hard into his lower lip. How could he have been so stupid?

"I forgot she was on my arm," he confessed. He opened his eyes. "Thank you. I-- when I saw her--" 

"Hm." Her hand was warm where it patted his. "Mr. Weasley raced in here saying that he had crushed her, and I _had to_ fix her, or you would hate him."

"It was just.... He grabbed my arm. I'd have hated myself, I think." 

"I see." She cleared her throat. "Now. You really must speak with a professor about what happened. The usual choice would be Professor McGonagall..."

"No!" Harry exclaimed. 

"Because?" Her eyebrows rose. 

"We were fighting about Draco," Harry said, almost wincing as the words left his mouth. He didn't remember if they had admitted to a fight. She didn't look surprised, though. "And Professor McGonagall -- well, she doesn't want me with him either. She'll side with Ron." _And then there's the anal sex thing, which she cannot find out about._

"I see." She pursed her lips for a moment. "I know that Professor Snape has talked to you on occasion--" 

"About Gryffindors fighting? He'll be awful." 

"I am _not_ looking for someone who will go easy on you and your friends, Mr. Potter. I want someone who will provide you with appropriate guidance."

"He's not fair, though -- you know he's not!"

"I'm afraid you must choose one or the other. Now mull it over while I measure out your potions. Just let me raise the bed--" 

"May I ask, my dear madam, what options our young friend is being asked to choose between?" 

Dumbledore. Harry wasn't sure if this was rescue or doom. It was sometimes hard to tell with the headmaster. Today, he strolled into the room looking the part of a charmingly mad great-uncle, with delicate little bells dangling from the braids of his beard. The bottom foot of his purple brocade robes sparkled with yellow daffodils and darting silver dragonflies, while above, the swirled purple lightened gradually to a medium violet. Harry watched a single silver and gold dragon soar lazily across the headmaster's torso, dip behind his beard and emerge on the other side, only to vanish under his arm. "I surmise," Dumbledore continued placidly, "that it is not a matter of treacle tart or peach trifle." 

Madam Pomfrey raised her chin. "Mr. Potter needs to explain to someone how he nearly died, yet again," she answered tartly. "He has protested that his head of house will be biased in this case, and Professor Snape--" 

"Will be biased," Harry finished. 

Dumbledore chuckled. "Often said of Professor Snape, but more rarely of Professor McGonagall," he observed. "But perhaps I can help. As it happens, I, too, am a professor. Might you discuss this matter with me, Harry?"

Harry took a steadying breath. There wasn't much hope for it; he could hardly refuse. But while Dumbledore had tried to keep Harry out of the Chamber, he had seemed unconcerned about Harry spending his nights during the trial in Draco's bed. And he had never been one to intervene in fights within Gryffindor. It might not be too bad. 

"I suppose," he said glumly. 

"Good, good," Dumbledore said cheerily. "Poppy, if you might leave us for a short while?"

After a bit of fussing with Harry's bed, angling it slightly so that he could converse without sitting up, Madam Pomfrey set her tray of potions aside and consented to retire to her office for a few minutes. Harry thought her instructions about not moving around unnecessary. He didn't think he could. 

"You are evading your medicine, however briefly. I confess I am surprised." 

"The thick one knocks me out," Harry answered. 

"Ah, I see." Dumbledore picked up the potion, sniffed it, and with visible distaste, put it down again. "Oh dear! You have my sympathies, my boy. What is it that you are recovering from?"

"I'm not exactly sure." 

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Indeed? Were you Obliviated?"

"No. I mean, I know what _happened_ , just not what was damaged. I just woke up a few minutes ago, and the bit when I got here is fuzzy. Madam Pomfrey said something about organs, I think." 

"Ah. Well, any one will set you back two days, at best." 

Harry expected the headmaster to press for details, but for the next minute, he just hummed to himself. Harry thought he might have forgotten where he was by the time he asked: 

"Professor Snape seems an odd choice for counsel. May I assume the fight was with a Slytherin?"

"No, with Ron." Harry raised his hand in what would have been an emphatic gesture if the start of the motion hadn't hurt so much. "It was my fault, though. I threw the first punch." 

Dumbledore studied him for a moment. 

"I see," he said finally, with less cheer. "And what did you learn from this?" 

"That I'm better with a wand," Harry answered quickly. "And I shouldn't get into fights while I'm wearing Susara." 

Dumbledore shook his head. "Perhaps even: 'don't start a fight?'"

"I know that," Harry objected. "He just-- He was _awful_. I wasn't thinking."

"Ah. I find that is often the problem, when one resorts to violence."

Shamed, Harry looked away. Yes, Ron had taunted him, but he had just attacked, like a child with no self-control at all. 

"I have tried to be better," he said. "Like we talked about. I can negotiate with all sorts of people now. I don't why Ron, of everyone, should be such a problem for me." 

He glanced back to find sympathy on the old professor's features. 

"Because you are so close perhaps, or because you are less close than you were. In such circumstances, it is easy to feel betrayed, an emotion that undermines reason." He cleared his throat. "In what manner, may I ask, was your friend 'awful'?"

"It was about Draco." Harry couldn't bring himself to say more. Heat was flowing up the skin of his face.

"Hm." The dragon had circled back to the front of Dumbledore's robes, and was making lazy, uneven loops. "I must confess, I have been uncertain of young Malfoy myself, at times, although I am not at present. Perhaps Ronald feels that he is a bad influence on you?"

"No, it's--" Harry stopped with a shrug. "He thinks Draco is taking advantage of me. I don't need to be told he won't stay. I know that. He _says_ it. That doesn't mean I'm not enjoying....." He couldn't say more.

Dumbledore's bells tinkled as his mouth twitched below his beard. "I see. Perhaps neither of you is being 'taken advantage' of?"

"Exactly."

"Mrs. Weasley has some rather old fashioned attitudes."

"She might think that about _girls_ , but I'm not a girl! And if I was, I'd _still_ be offended!"

Professor Dumbledore chucked. "As I said, she is quite old-fashioned, and I say this as someone many years her senior. But she was a girl, once, and her experiences then, perhaps, reinforced this idea of waiting for the one you would remain with."

Harry tried to pull information out of that sideways expression of something. Had Mrs. Weasley not wanted to stay with Ron's dad? A sudden idea made him wince. "Did she, er, have to marry Mr. Weasley?" 

" _Have_ to? No, indeed not. And lest you think that I have misunderstood, Bill was born in November of the year following, with no indication he had been delayed. I believe one of her school friends, however, had had a period of considering an array of bad options." 

It was strange to think of Mrs. Weasley as a schoolgirl with schoolgirl friends. Harry frowned as he wondered if that changed anything. "But it's not as if Draco can get me pregnant!" he burst out.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course not. However, I believe young Mr. Weasley has yet to think critically about the realities such attitudes spring from." He peered keenly over his glasses. "This makes it still odder, however, that Madam Pomfrey might refer you to Professor Snape. I hope you are not still under his tutelage?"

The change in topics left Harry feeling spun around. He had thought of his project with Snape as official, like the one with McGonagall, but of course it wasn't. It just wasn't _secret_. "I'm studying with him," he said quickly, "but not like before." Professor Dumbledore leaned unnervingly close, making Harry wish he could move back. "Nothing Dark, I mean. I think it's just that my boyfriend is his spellson, and she knows it had something to do with Draco."

"If nothing Dark, then why Professor Snape?"

"Because he offered!" Harry snapped. Even that second of anger was exhausting. "And Draco comes, so it really _can't_ be Dark."

Tilting his head, Dumbledore waved the matter away. "I did not dispute your account, Harry. I am simply curious as to what he offered to teach. Our good Potions master has several unusual talents, but he is seldom one to share." 

"But this is _me_ , right? He wants me to win." Harry yawned, and realized he still hadn't answered. "Oh -- wandless magic." 

"Indeed." Dumbledore settled back, but his eyes shone, and his voice slowed with satisfaction. "An excellent choice. If you wish supplemental instruction, please feel free to call on me. I believe my training in the matter is significantly different from Professor Snape's." 

"I'll keep it in mind," Harry said honestly, "but my schedule's rather full, at the moment." 

"Over the holidays, perhaps," Dumbledore suggested, getting to his feet. Harry didn't feel like they had got anywhere. Had Dumbledore just wanted to know about Snape? Before he even spotted Madam Pomfrey approaching, he found himself confronted with another dose of the putrid ooze. After that, she handed him a clear, almost unobjectionable potion to chase it. Before sleep took him, Harry saw her returning to her office with the headmaster. 

 

He woke next to a hand stroking his hair. Draco. He turned into the touch. 

"Harry?" 

It _was_ Draco, Harry thought, belatedly realizing that he didn't know why he had assumed that. That there was no one else who would touch him that way, perhaps. Except Hermione might. "Hi," he murmured. 

"Five minutes only, Mr. Malfoy. It's time for his potions."

"Which will knock me out again," Harry said ruefully. 

"Probably good for you," Draco said. "I don't suppose there's any chance that this episode will teach you not to be an idiot?"

Harry ducked his head. Susara shifted on his chest. It was reassuring that she was there, but disturbing that her balance was less than perfect. "A few days in the hospital wing? No. Nearly getting Susara killed? Possibly."

"Really." 

" _Out?_ " Susara hissed.

" _Yes._ " In a stream of gold, she flowed out between two buttons of his pajama top. His fingertips resting carefully on her, Harry looked back at Draco. "I'll at least try not to put her in danger by starting fights." 

"I see." Draco sighed. "You _do_ realize that you are the absolute _best_ dueler among current Hogwarts students, don't you? And that Ron Weasley is a head taller than you, and has enough older brothers to complete a Quidditch team?" 

"Who told you Ron was involved?" 

Draco tsked. "Hermione, of course. Although when Gryffindor lost forty points overnight, there was enough grumbling in the hallway to surmise that it was twenty points each for you and him."

"Ouch." 

"Oh, Hermione was awarded twenty after the initial blow, and Seamus five, so it's not all _that_ bad a drop for your lot, but I did press her for details." 

"What day is it?"

"Monday evening."

"Okay." Harry yawned. Hermione would bring him assignments and notes, probably, so-- "Mill!" he exclaimed. 

"No worries. I know you help her out after classes, so I checked in with her." 

Harry's head thumped back into the pillow. "Thanks." 

"You're coddling her, you know. She had already done quite a passable job on her own." 

Harry cracked his eyes open. Draco was turning a glass straw end-over-end through his fingers. "Really? That's great!" 

"Mm. In other news, you really should try to be back on your feet by this weekend." 

"Hogsmeade?"

"Hardly," Draco drawled. "No, Apparation lessons start for those seventeen year old students who did not learn from their parents -- or at least not enough to pass Saturday's morning's preliminary test."

"Which you're sure you will." 

"Really, Harry! Severus took me to get my license in August. I will be merely an observer." 

"Mm." Apparation would be handy, but it sounded exhausting. To his irritation, Harry found himself yawning again. "You're taking this well."

"You're _far_ too ill to argue with yet," Draco said pleasantly. "Now, I had better go. Those potions are headed our way." 

Harry sputtered. "Oh, give me something to look forward to!" he managed finally. 

"Exactly," Draco answered, with a chaste kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well." 

The ooze had more of a greenish tinge to it, that day, or perhaps Harry's vision was better, but it still tasted like spoiled meat. Fortunately, it knocked him out before he could think about it too much. 

 

By Tuesday evening, Harry felt he was better, but Madame Pomfrey wouldn't let him out of bed, and Draco was still being kind to him, so he supposed he wasn't. Hermione and Draco brought him his assignments, and Madam Pomfrey provided a lap desk so he could read and write more easily. Knowing he should be grateful didn't make that any less irritating. Ron was stuck in detention, Hermione informed him, and banned from visiting anyway. A card by his bed showed that Mill had stopped by while he was asleep. The front displayed a short loop of the famous Burdeski/Garcia crash of the '80 World Cup, and inside, a wobbling cartoon of Garcia sat splay-legged on the pitch, with Snidgets flitting around his head. The inscription inside was "Best Wishes for your Latest Recovery." It made him laugh.

On Wednesday morning, Pomfrey started to hint that she might let him leave by the end of the day. She also let him use the loo, rather than using healers' charms on him. 

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Potter, if the colors are a bit odd. That's just the clearing potion doing what it ought." 

That had been a needed warning, but over the course of the day his urine shifted from dirty green to brassy gold. Humiliatingly, he needed to report on the color after each trip, and with the amount of water he was instructed to drink, those were frequent. 

"Color, Mr. Potter?" she asked crisply, as he emerged for the fifth time. Behind her, the early winter sunset was just tinting the western windows with pink. 

"Normal," he said with relief. 

"Please be more exact." 

"Pale yellow." 

She broke into a cheery smile. "Good! Up on the bed, now, and let me examine you. If nothing is wrong, you'll be able to have dinner in the Great Hall."

She prodded his abdomen, had him stretch his arm up and lean over, and cast several charms. In the end, she handed him the clear potion, but not the ooze. 

"Last dose, Mr. Potter. I'm happy to say that you should be fine, provided that--"

The door banged open. Professor Dumbledore strode in with a Slytherin -- Julian -- floating before him. The boy was pale, and his leg scraped bloody and swelling, but his mouth set in a firm line. 

"Mr. Devary!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. "What happened?" She hurried to another bed, beckoning them over. As Julian passed by at chest height, Harry noticed the flash of his prefect's badge. That must be why Madam Pomfrey knew him. 

"You'll be fine, dear," she was saying soothingly, as Dumbledore moved into place beside her, whispering. A pain potion came flying across the room to her hand. "Take that, now, before the charm wears off, and then tell me what happened." 

"I think it was Peeves," Julian said, then quickly swallowed the potion. "A Fanged Frisbee came out of nowhere, just as a group of us were going down the stairs. Everyone was trying to duck it, and Vere, the idiot, pushed in behind me, and I fell into the trick stair."

"And kept going, unfortunately," Dumbledore added.

"Well, it's a nasty sprain, at best," Pomfrey said. "Let's take a look." She ran her wand across the ankle in several directions. Sometimes, a spot on it would glow. Dumbledore exchanged a few quiet words with her as she hurried to the potions cupboard, and then left her and came back towards Harry. 

"I'm afraid Madam Pomfrey will be busy for several minutes," he remarked. "Fortunately, your case has progressed as expected, and we discussed it over tea, mere hours ago. In the matter of your discharge, she has approved me as her proxy."

Harry glanced over to where Julian was choking down some Skelegrow, and grimacing, nodded. "Okay. She, er, was saying I'd be fine, but I think there was a 'but' there." 

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Exactly. You must avoid further impact to the area, and alcohol of any sort, until your liver has recovered from the trauma."

"Er, okay." Harry hoped he _could_ avoid further trauma. Dueling was often unpredictable. "Until when?" 

Dumbledore patted him on the hand. "I expect you can have a little something at Christmas dinner."

"Yes, but what about Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Harry pressed. "We're doing dueling. I get hit with things all the time!" 

"Ah, that." Dumbledore waved a hand. "I will let Professor Hecksban know that you may be allowed a localized armoring charm -- you have learned those, correct?" At Harry's node, he produced a dark purple potion which he handed to Harry. "Take a sip of this -- exact quantity does not matter, but it must go down in a single swallow -- at 4:00 every day. If you experience any difficulties -- for example, nausea or pain -- see me or Madam Pomfrey immediately." 

"Yes sir."

Privately, Harry thought Madam Pomfrey might be easier to deal with, but at least Dumbledore wasn't giving him detention to match Ron's.

 

As it happened, he was just outside the Great Hall when familiar voices called from the stairs. 

"Harry!" 

Smiling, Harry moved out of the flow of students, waiting for Ron and Hermione to join him. 

"Harry." Ron started to thump him on the back, but then stopped, his hand twitching awkwardly a few inches short of contact. "Where is she? Are you okay?"

"Pretty much," Harry answered, feeling his cheeks stretch in a grin. "Don't hit me in the same place, and I should be fine. And--" 

"The two of you shouldn't be hitting each other at all," Hermione scolded, moving between them to take an arm of each. "Or anyone else. Good to have you back, Harry. Is Susara recovered as well?" 

"Yes. And I've told her to stay around my neck, and damn what the blood bigots think."

Nodding, Ron pulled away from Hermione to walk sideways, keeping an eye on both of them. "Good call." He ran a hand through his hair, nearly hitting a Hufflepuff girl with his elbow. "Look, mate, you know I didn't mean to really--"

"That was clear from how you raced her off to Pomfrey."

Ron stopped in his tracks. People bumped into Harry from behind, muttering irritably before continuing around. 

"To hurt _you_ ," Ron said brusquely, lowering his head like a ram.

"Of course I know that!" Harry exclaimed. He wondered, suddenly, if Dumbledore had meant that _Ron_ might feel betrayed. He had thought that was intended for him. He didn't want to rehash what had happened -- not with all these people around them. Setting a hand on hand on Ron's shoulder, he steered him forward. "Hermione's right about the hitting though. We're too old for that, and I shouldn't have, no matter what you said. Now let's get dinner."

They were sitting in front of still empty plates, and Harry's mouth was watering in anticipation of a full meal, when Ron tapped the table between them. 

"Oh, you got a package. From Professor Lupin. It looks like books, or something." He grinned. "Seamus tried to peek and ended up with hairy hands for the evening. Some of the kids were panicking -- thought he was turning into a werewolf from touching the same twine -- so I used the Classification spells from Cursebreaking. It was brilliant!" His hands chopped spaces in the air. "Minor hex; wand-cast. 'There,' I said. 'It's just a prank.'"

Suddenly, Harry wasn't sure he could eat. 

  


_Dear Harry,_

_Under the circumstances, it seems to me that Professor Snape is being unusually reasonable. It would behoove you to receive his direction with good grace. This certainly sounds like a gentler treatment than Nature imposed on Padfoot -- although, being Padfoot, I am afraid that he considered even a venereal curse cause for bragging rights._

_In any case, I have sent two books on the subject. One is primarily about having fun, and the other primarily about avoiding trouble, although there is considerable overlap, particularly in the areas of communication and nurturing love. Both are intended for wizards who prefer wizards. I considered including a more 'standard' volume, but since you are with Draco Malfoy now, I expect you will have time to obtain one yourself later, should you wish to venture in that direction. Consult the bibliography for titles. Since the tone of your letter implied some embarrassment, I have also included a dueler's diary, and a volume of protective spells for you to show around to housemates who wonder what was in the package._

_A games night sounds like great fun! There are few environments that provide the varied social opportunities of school. You are at Hogwarts primarily to pursue an education, of course, but do not undervalue the opportunities to forge friendships that bring you joy._

_Affectionately,_

_Remus_

 

Harry let Draco know he had the books, but with the amount of schoolwork he needed to make up, he didn't get to show them off until Friday, when they had a little time alone in the Uncommon Room. At the sound of the door opening, Harry slapped _Responsible Romance for the Peculiar Wizard_ shut, and shoved it into his school bag. He and Draco looked at each other and sniggered, with incongruously childish giddiness. 

The sideboard was set with fruit-covered tarts and little lacy paper bowls piled with glittering candied nuts in a sea of scattered rose petals in white and red. The arriving Hufflepuffs exclaimed over the arrangement and declared it absolutely could not be disrupted before others had a chance to see. Nonetheless, they sent it longing looks as they chatted with Harry and Draco, who had stood to join them. 

Blaise, Linnet, and Gilbert arrived next, and then Ginny, Luna, and Neville. Cornelia and Millicent thundered in a minute later, red-faced and panting. 

"Challenged her to a stair run -- dungeons to Gryffindor to Entrance Hall to here," Cornelia gasped out, as she dove under the sideboard for something to drink. "She's in better shape than she looks." 

Mill snorted, then sucked in more air. "Beaters need stamina." 

"Yeah, but it's _December_." Wobbling upright, Cornelia handed Millicent a beer. 

While watching Mill frown at it, her breath already steadying, Harry thought she looked more fit then she had before, and wondered if it real, or an addition to the glamour. She'd done her own that afternoon. With a shrug, Millicent moved down the sideboard. 

"Ale's fine, but I need some water too. Want some, Corny?"

"Provided you _never_ call me that again." 

Smirking, Mill handed her a glass. "Enjoy your dreams, Carter." She grabbed two bowls of nuts and one of the tarts, breaking the perfection of the display. Within seconds, Susan had scooped up a plate and started choosing things to put on it. A swift flow of people followed, and the room was soon filled with the bright sound of clinking china, and cheerful chatter, and the scents of beer, pastry, and crunched nuts.

It was the muting of conversations that made Harry look up. A number of people had arrived without any change in atmosphere, and he hadn't paid much attention to the latest clack of the door. Now, though, people were speaking more quietly and moving more carefully. At the end of the corridor stood Ron, his hand holding tightly to Hermione's.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered. 

"Hermione!" Draco exclaimed. "Do come in. And I recommend the tarts. The berries are a moment's taste of summer." As he was speaking, he made his way over to the couple, stopping with a half-second of awkward flutter in front of them. Harry suspected that he was fighting against offering Hermione his arm. He settled for nodding graciously at Ron. "Thank you for bringing her. I expect she needed the encouragement." 

Sputters of conversation rose as Hermione -- and Ron -- stepped forward, but the buzz didn't resume its original tempo. People began to move to seats -- one here, three there, freeing up space around the food. 

"Oh, how lovely!" Hermione said as surveyed the spread. 

"You should have seen it before the horde descended," Susan laughed, raising her wine glass, as she turned to follow Linnet. They moved to the green chaise longue, treating it as a regular sofa, and Susan used a sticking charm to keep their plates in place between them. Hermione had selected a tart with velvety red raspberries and glossy blackberries arrayed on the top. She picked off one of the raspberries and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes closed as she tasted it. 

"Oh! You're right, Draco; the berries are perfect! It's a pity there aren't extras." 

Blaise, who had moved in to pick up more candied walnuts, grinned. "That can be arranged." 

She shook her head as he drew his wand. "Zabini, don't you dare duplicate my fruit! You know it dilutes the flavor." 

"Not what I had in mind, Miss Granger," Blaise said, and with that, deftly levitated the fruit from two more tarts onto her plate.

Her eyes widened. "But I shouldn't--"

"There's always extra," he assured her. "Draco is too trained a host to let the food run out. And I expect _someone_ will love having just the custard. Tastes vary, you know." 

She looked down, but Harry could see her cheeks rounding with a not-quite-hidden smile. "Well, thank you, then. But--"

"What would you like to drink, Hermione?" Ron interrupted. "There's pumpkin juice, and usually some kind of floral thing--" 

"Elderflower presse," Harry explained, taking some. He tipped in some shiny liquid from a capped carafe, noticing Hermione's questioning look as he moved to set it down. "And this is sort of a still tonic water," he continued casually, "if you want it less sweet." 

Hermione poured a little from the carafe into a wine glass, and tasted it plain. Her face scrunched together at the bite of quinine.

"Awful, isn't it?" Ron sympathized. "I'll get you a clean glass." 

"No, that's all right," she protested. "I'm sure it will be fine mixed with pumpkin juice." 

She looked at Harry. "I'm surprised you're not having wine. Behaving for my benefit?"

Grinning, Harry shook his head. "Can't. I'm told my liver needs a few weeks to recover. I'm on a potion for it." 

"How unfortunate," she said insincerely. 

"Oh, I'm more worried about avoiding blows in defense class, to be honest." The group of them, and Blaise, were the only people still by the sideboard now. Harry swept his arm towards the empty white sofa and matching chair beside it. "Pick a spot." 

"Here," Ron said awkwardly, taking Hermione's plate. "I'll carry that for you." 

"I really...." Hermione began in surprise, but gave up with a shrug and followed after. Ron set her things down at the end of the white sofa, making Blaise scowl. Harry suspected that he had wanted that spot. Sophia was in the next chair, and Blaise seemed to be cultivating the Ravenclaws. Harry thought that he and Draco were expected to take the loveseat between Caradog and Luna, which was the only other place for two to sit together. Thinking about what Dumbledore had said about the actions of people who felt betrayed, and with an apologetic look at Draco, he sat next to Ron. 

"Is this arm free?" Draco asked lightly, pausing next to him.

"Of course." 

With a grateful smile, Draco settled on the arm of the sofa, but only for a few seconds. "Too uncomfortable," he said loftily to Harry, but with a wink, and he moved to the chair a few feet away. Blaise hesitated at the loveseat and chose the end by Caradog. 

Conversations trailed off. Linnet nudged Susan and whispered. Hermione's curious look swept the circle. 

"Well!" Sophia said heartily. "Game or not?" 

"Only if no one's an arse," Ginny said. 

"Introductions first," Draco said, his face pinched with annoyance. "Then we can discuss it." 

He wasn't the only one to send Ginny a sharp look, Harry noticed, but no one had disagreed. Now people were glancing around -- looking, he thought, for the person who might speak first. He decided it might as well be him. 

"All right," he said. "Introductions. Does anyone here not know Hermione?" 

Gilbert raised his hand immediately, as if he were in a lesson, and Caradog and Linnet followed his lead. Harry supposed that made sense. The sixth years who weren't in Gryffindor wouldn't have spent time with her. 

"I know her reputation, of course," Gilbert said casually. He was perched on the end of the chaise longue, but somehow made it look comfortable as he leaned forward, legs neatly crossed at the knee. "Frighteningly intelligent, and somewhat too eager to show it off." Peripherally, Harry saw Draco stiffen. Hermione ducked her head.

"I _try_ to contain myself," she explained, blushing. "It's just so frustrating, when no one else will speak." 

"I'd suspected it might be that," Gilbert said evenly. "After all, Harry, here, is similarly widely regarded as showing off, but in the course of socializing with him, I have come to believe his recklessness is innate, and he is scarcely aware of how other people regard it." He smiled disarmingly at Harry, and then at Draco. "Perhaps I should start. I am Gilbert Claudius Wilkens Clarke, Slytherin, sixth year. I have two older half-sisters, who were also in Slytherin, and a younger sister in Hufflepuff, third year." 

"Any relation to Jason Wilkens?" Ginny asked. 

"Third cousins. We've met a few times out of school." 

He glanced to his left. 

Padma waved to Hermione, and Hermione waved back and then looked pointedly past Draco, Harry, and Ron, and to her other side. "Sophia?" she asked. 

"Correct." 

On Sophia's other side, Hannah shifted, pulling her hair a little more in toward her face. "Um, we've _seen_ each other," she said, "but, um, Hannah. Hannah Abbot. Hufflepuff." 

"Of course. You're good at Astronomy, as I recall."

"Um, some. I mean it's interesting." With a sunny smile, Hannah straightened in her seat, and looked over to Millicent. 

"Hi, Granger," she said with a nod, and, beside her, Cornelia waved on to Caradog, who gave his name, house, and Quidditch position, and then stopped, blushing.

"Blaise Zabini," Blaise said, focusing on Hermione. "But you know that. And you're welcome to call me Blaise. Welcome to the Uncommon Room."

"Thank you, Blaise." 

"We mostly use given names here," Luna said agreeably. "Hello, Hermione. I'm curious to meet you out of the classroom." 

"I suppose that's mutual," Hermione said with a quick smile. Harry wondered what subject Luna was a year ahead in, but this didn't seem the time to ask. Hermione had scanned the rest of the people and now clasped her hands on her knee. "So, that's that. Everyone left is from Gryffindor, so there's no need."

"We usually have new people in groups," Draco explained. "It's less directed. So -- the game." He surveyed the circle imperiously. "What are the arguments in favor?"

"It's fun," Linnet said. "Or it had been." 

"It's our badge," Gilbert said, lifting his wrist. "If we don't continue, the new people will need something else." 

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I think the main point is that we _had_ all been enjoying it," Cornelia contributed. 

"And it would be a shame to end on a wrong note."

"And it does serve as a way to learn more about each other," Blaise observed. "Conversational familiarity compressed, in a way." 

"That all makes sense," Harry stated neutrally. 

"Yes." Draco drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Harry was just close enough to hear the muted strike of fingertips against taut upholstery. "Points against?"

Linnet started again. "If people want to be mean, it's easy." 

Sophia nodded. "There's really no rule set that would prevent that whilst preserving the value of the game."

"Or the fun!" 

"Yes."

Harry had been going to stay out of it, but he felt he had to weigh in here. "In some cases, people may not even know what will be a problem for someone else." 

"Yes, but that's always true, isn't it?" Blaise objected. "I mean, that's another aspect of it being conversation compressed." 

"This has more of an audience than most chat, though," Seamus argued, getting a pout from Parvati. She was staying quiet, but the decision clearly mattered to her. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and she was sitting so still that her earrings didn't even shimmer. 

"All right," Harry said. "Who would be _willing_ to play? Show of hands." 

Most people raised their hands right along with him. Ginny, Neville, and Padma were slower, and Ron's stayed down.

"I'm willing to give it another try," Ginny said. "If it gets nasty, we should either stop, or ban some people from playing." 

"I think one of the Hufflepuffs should start," Harry said. "That should get us off on the right foot." 

Susan beamed. "I'd be happy to." 

That would make Linnet second and Gilbert third. Harry looked at Draco, and they nodded at each other. It would be a good start.

"For completeness," Draco said, "who would rather not play?" 

Ron raised his hand partway, and Cornelia huffed. "He doesn't get a say, I think." 

Multiple glances around the oval space connected, and were sealed with nods. Hermione was noticing, but Harry nudged Ron and leaned close. "It's your chance to show you can be reasonable," he said softly, hoping the words were too quiet for Hermione to hear.

"Great," Ron muttered. More loudly, he said, " _fine_."

"Would someone please explain what you're talking about?" Hermione said.

"Just watch." 

"Oh, not that again!" Parvati protested. "It's 'I Never.'" 

Hermione's eyes widened. 

"For beads, instead of other things," Harry said quickly. 

"But you have to wear the ones you get." 

Ginny grinned. "And now you watch. And once you take a bead, you won't be able to talk about it unless you really try." She looked around quickly. "And she says if she's playing or not by the time it's Ron's turn, agreed?" 

"Hear, hear!" Seamus said heartily, and there was a chorus of agreement, while Susan, a finger against her chin, made a show of thinking. 

"Hm," she said, once the group had quieted. "Oh, I know! I've never mistaken Muggle technology for magic." 

Gilbert sighed. Flicking his wand out, he summoned the bowl of beads from under the sideboard. 

"Oh really!" Linnet exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. 

"The doors just slid open for me! How was I to know? What color?"

"Steel grey." 

Ron motioned for the bowl. "Hermione had this necklace thing that _blinked_."

"Until it had been here too long," Hermione added, her cheeks widening with her smile. 

Remembering how clueless Draco had been about the things in the girl's knapsack, Harry looked pointedly at him.

"Insufficient exposure," Draco said loftily. 

"You've been in Muggle places before," Millicent argued.

"Yes, but I have always been very _aware_ of it when I was in such a space." He looked over across the circle. "Blaise? Neville?" 

Blaise shrugged. "Even less exposure than you, I think." He cleared his throat. "I mean, neither of us was brought to Muggle places as something normal. For your father, I expect it was harrying an enemy." 

Draco stiffened. "I have more frequently gone with Harry." 

"Oh, but there you have him to explain for you." Blaise said quickly. "No offense intended. I just didn't have either sort of contact." He turned his head. "Neville?" 

"Er... My Gran is sort of protective." 

That seemed to settle the matter. After a moment, Linnet straightened on the chaise longue. "Hm. I think Harry has too many beads, so...."

"No targeting!" 

"Oh, but this is _reverse_ targeting! And I'm curious as to whether this is Harry, Gryffindors, or something else. So: I have never been through a year at Hogwarts without being in mortal danger."

She tossed her head and summoned a bead, smiling. "Keep it clear." 

"Hold on," Cornelia said. "We take a bead if there was a _single year_ in which we were not in mortal danger at Hogwarts?" 

"Or more, but yes."

Rolling her eyes, she summoned a bead. "Gryffindors aren't as mad as you think." 

Beads flew as people summoned them and strung them on cords. 

"Very well," Gilbert said. "Now--"

"Wait," Ron said urgently. "I'm thinking."

"Me too," Hermione added. Her mouth twisted. "No, I think I don't get one." 

"You cannot be serious!" Gilbert exclaimed. 

"But I am. Fourth year is the only one in question, but I was definitely in mortal danger at least once every other year."

"And fourth year you were Krum's hostage," Ron put in. "That counts." 

"I'm not sure it does, really," Hermione objected. "They assured us that those taken had not been in genuine peril--" 

"Considering how well the rest of it was managed, I'm not sure I'd believe that," Harry interjected. 

"Yes, but I think it's beside the point. With a disguised Death Eater teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, all the Muggleborns were in more danger than they realized, and with me as one of your research helpers--" 

"Except he wanted me to win," Harry objected. "That was rather the point. Still, I'd give it to you on being tied up unconscious at the bottom of the Black Lake."

"Point of order," Linnet cut in. "May we hear the dangers of the other years?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other. Harry nodded. Ron shrugged. Hermione smiled. 

"First year is quite concrete," she said. "We went with Harry to get to the Philosopher's Stone--"

"You wanted it?" Blaise asked swiftly.

"We thought Snape was trying to steal it," Harry explained. "Of course it was Quirrell -- or rather, Voldemort on Quirrell's head --"

"But there was a three-headed dog, and Devil's Snare, and a chess game where we had to be the pieces--" 

"We had a _Kerberos_ in the school?" Blaise exclaimed incredulously. 

"That was why we were supposed to stay away from the third-floor corridor."

"You see," Draco drawled, "the headmaster is genuinely as mad as he pretends to be." 

"Second year was the Basilisk--"

"The what?" Sophia exclaimed.

"The creature in the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione explained. "You remember how students were paralyzed? The only reason I was paralyzed and not killed was that I'd figured out what it was -- the roosters all being killed was the first clue--" 

Gilbert frowned. "So since you were a Muggleborn--"

"I don't believe it cared," Harry interrupted. "I heard it, and it cared even less than Voldemort does." 

"In any case," Hermione said firmly, "I was looking around corners with a mirror. That was why I lived." 

"So, third year?" Linnet asked. 

"With Professor Lupin, on the night of the full moon, when he'd forgotten to take his Wolfsbane."

"Circe!" Gilbert swore. "How did you survive?"

"Sirius threw something at him and drew him off," Harry said.

"Professor Snape protected us as well," Hermione chided. 

"Well, yeah. Though if he'd been a bit less authoritarian about it, we might have cleared Sirius that night." At Hermione's glare, Harry sighed. "Don't get me wrong. It was _brave_ of him, and good, and I rather like him now. Still, the man won't _listen_ unless he likes you, and it wasn't just Sirius that paid the price. Wormtail went on to revive the Dark Lord."

"It's not just liking, Harry," Draco objected. "He won't listen unless he _respects_ you in the relevant environment. I doubt any third year would have had better results; there was a werewolf to protect you from." 

"And he's not exactly impartial about werewolves," Hermione contributed. 

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I don't expect it's his Boggart, but only because of the competition." 

Ron chuckled. No one else did.

"Did he have a narrow escape?" Linnet asked. 

"Yes. Lupin, as a student. I don't know the details, but I gather it was Sirius's fault, somehow." 

"I've heard enough," Linnet said. "Hermione, you can skip the bead. Gilbert?"

Gilbert twitched, apparently called back from some distant musing. 

"Ah. Right. All right then. Conversations in the official mixed-house space have me curious. I have never been punished for accidental magic."

Harry summoned a bead, but then sat with it, rolling it between his fingers. "Look," he said, "You knew that I had...." 

"And I wanted to see who else had experienced this."

"Then you need a group with more Muggleborns," Hermione objected. "It's just me, isn't it?" 

"But you did not have this problem." 

"Of course not!" Hermione exclaimed. "My parents are _far_ too rational to punish me for something that couldn't have happened." 

People laughed.

"Color?" Harry asked.

"Yellow."

"Why?" 

It's a Hufflepuff predicament -- no offense, but if you'd been willing to craft a story--"

"How would he know to try?" Hermione huffed. "I hadn't heard of the magical world until I got my letter, and it was the same with Harry."

"Doing magic is instinctual," Harry explained, although he added the color to his bead. " _Knowing_ that you've done it isn't. Next challenge?" 

Padma was next, and used "I've never raised my hand in a lesson when I didn't remember the answer yet." She, Hermione, Hannah, Blaise, and Luna colored beads a dark teal. 

"It's not always an accident," Blaise said. "Sometimes the pressure helps me remember." 

Luna smiled. "I like that it can make me say things I never would have thought of if I had prepared. Sometimes they're more useful than the answers in my essays." 

"And sometimes not, Luna," Sophia pointed out. 

"Well, yes," Luna said, looking dreamily off at the ivy. "I really can't devise any way that porridge would help with cross-transfiguration, so I suppose I was just hungry, this morning." She smiled brightly at Sophia. "But I was right about color-tracing superposition in runic overlays." 

Padma twitched. "That was spontaneous?" she asked incredulously.

Harry was too far away to hear Luna's hum of agreement, but he could see it in the stretch of her lips. Padma's growl, much closer, was just at the edge of his hearing. 

"Draco?" Padma prodded, as if pleading for rescue. 

"Must I? I'm finding the theories of outer swotage fascinating."

" _That's_ the pot calling the kettle black."

"I admit to being studious and concerned about my marks, but I would _never_ place myself in such a precarious position." Draco's eyes flashed as his lids lifted, his demeanor of ennui changing to sharp focus as he looked back at Harry. "My challenge: I have never attacked without the best weapons at my disposal." 

There was a moment of silence.

"Targeted," Seamus said.

"Yet I believe true for more than one person here." 

"I don't even know what it means!" Susan complained. 

"I threw a swing at Ron when he was being offensive," Harry said tightly. "Draco's concerned that it was stupid, and Hermione's concerned that it was wrong, and since I agree with both of them, they can both shut up about it." 

"I thought we were going to be _friendly_ today," Ginny said, her voice far too sweet. 

"It's not as if I don't love him." 

" _Draco_...."

"Oh, all right!" Draco huffed. "I withdraw the challenge. I've never cooked anything." He sat back, arms crossed. "Orange. Put a little chef's hat on it, if you can."

The resulting bead went to everyone but Draco, Linnet, Gilbert, Caradog, and Neville. 

"You've cooked?" Hermione asked Ron. 

"Well, not much! I can fry sausages, though. And eggs." 

"I've never seen you." 

"That's because Mum's always there when you're over." 

"Oh, I see." Hermione didn't quite keep the disapproval from her tone. Harry interrupted quickly. 

"Shall we move on?"

"Would you have challenged?" Ginny asked. 

"I've never understood what Slytherins consider insults." Harry sat up as people started reaching for beads. "No, wait! That wasn't my turn. I was just _saying_ it." He cleared his throat. "Okay. I've never worried about leaving school at the end of the year. That's it." He took a bead and rolled the smooth glass between forefinger and thumb, wondering what color or pattern could possibly express life at the Dursley's -- dismal and monotonous, but still nothing like safe. Finally, he turned it dishwater grey with flecks of red deeper in, but he wasn't sure what they stood for. Pain, perhaps, but anger was stronger. A touch to his knee almost made him flinch. He forced himself to stay still and look. Hermione had reached across Ron's lap to lay a hand there. Shaking off his embarrassment, Harry looked around. Draco, Millicent, Luna, Neville, and Caradog had taken beads. To his surprise, Seamus was holding one as well.

"What color is that?" Neville asked, peering across the room. 

"Here, just send them all to me. I can't describe it." Harry changed the color of six beads to match his own, and then tossed each back. "Change the flecks, if you like."

After a deep breath, Ron smiled brightly. "I've never wanted to have a Krup or two," he announced, and produced a white bead with brown spots. 

Harry felt his cheeks stretch in a grin. It was completely harmless. "It's never occurred to me," he said, with the spontaneity of joy. "Maybe when I'm done traveling." 

"No need to wait, darling," Draco said. "We ha--" His voice tightened. "You have a House Elf, after all." He looked away, and scraped moodily at his empty plate. Neither he nor Harry took a bead. 

However, Sophia did, and Millicent, Cornelia, and Caradog all did, giving their sofa something in common, though Susan and Linnet were not joined by Gilbert, who put up his nose. Ginny, with a smile for her brother, took one. When Seamus began coloring a bead, Parvati, with a half-hidden smile, took one as well. Hermione, Harry noticed, did not. She seemed to be pretending not to notice. 

"Well, I suppose it's my turn," she said brightly, already reaching for the beads. "So -- I've never wanted to submit my research for publication." 

She immediately turned her bead a rich burgundy that Harry recognized as the masthead color of _Exploring Magic_ , a quarterly that both she and Draco subscribed to. Harry wasn't surprised by Padma, Sophia, and Draco, or even by Blaise and Linnet. Neville, however, took him by surprise. 

"Does the _Quibbler_ count?" Luna asked wistfully.

"No," Sophia answered emphatically. "It's owned by your father, and it's not peer-reviewed. Have you ever wanted to submit somewhere else?"

Luna cocked her head to the side, and, looking far away, gave the matter serious consideration. "I don't think other publications are ready," she said gravely, and folded her hands in her lap. 

Smiling fondly at her, Sophia leaned forward in her seat. "I have never," she said, with the air of imparting a great secret, "written a brilliant essay that, to my deep dismay, was never assigned."

Hermione laughed and took a bead, copying Sophia's intensified Ravenclaw color scheme of cobalt blue with a swirl of bronze. The other Ravenclaws followed, along with Gilbert, Parvati, and -- after a moment's hesitation -- Blaise. 

"All right," Susan said, "I need to ask. Neville, have you _really_ wanted to be published, and Parvati, are you really that studious?" 

"It's not being studious!" Parvati protested. "I was just _certain_ I knew what the next assignment in Charms would be. I was so disappointed! I had to rewrite more than half of it, and it wasn't nearly as good." 

"That's it exactly," Gilbert said. "Except I judged it best to scrap the whole thing and start over." 

"And Neville is brilliant in Herbology," Ginny said defiantly. 

"Well, that's fine," Susan said. "I just didn't think--" 

"I managed to get in some greenhouse work over the last few summers," Neville said quickly. "I found a way to breed soothable Mandrakes, so they can be repotted -- and even harvested -- without aural protection."

Draco choked on his wine. "You _what_? Where did you submit it?"

Neville slumped. "Gran found the tables, and burnt the seedlings and threw them all out." 

"What? Why?"

Curling even further, Neville's voice dropped to a mumble. "I'm not a decorated dueler like my father, and I shouldn't keep dangerous plants. Besides, it's not--"

"Rot!" Harry snapped. "Not everyone's good at fighting, and you're certainly good _enough_ \--"

"She doesn't appreciate you," Ginny said. Neville didn't look at either of them.

"She just worries about me," he said, studying his hands. "She doesn't understand plants, and she's right I'm not very strong magically--" 

"Except where you _are_ ," Hermione said firmly. "For example, with plants. And Neville, really, you're no worse than normal with charms, once...." 

"Right," Seamus said. "The rest of us, you know, know to drop Hermione from the set if we're evaluating our ability at Charms, and Harry, if it's Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"And Potions?" Neville said doubtfully. "I've melted more cauldrons than anyone in two decades."

Draco sighed. "First," he said, "don't believe everything my spellfather says. Second--" he looked at Harry, for a moment, as if he wanted to be held, but then, almost scornfully, faced forward again. "Severus and I both have the same destructive response to fear. Neither of us can tolerate even a wisp of it, and I _cannot_ explain why."

"It's fear," Harry said, suddenly certain. He remembered how they had talked about this before, under the soothing influence of _Facilis_. "Another kind."

"Fear of being feared?" Draco said scornfully. 

"Sorry, but yes. When anything is afraid of you, you're terrified of what that says about who you are. You need to belittle them into insignificance." 

He couldn't make it clearer than that -- not without more thought -- but he raised his chin to Draco's glare. Eventually, Draco half-laughed, with a mild huff, and then shrugged the matter off. 

"I suppose that explains why you and I get along. Now, I believe, it is Miss Abbot's turn." 

Hannah blushed and said she had never had a long conversation with someone whilst pretending she knew who they were, immediately giving the lie to the statement with a misty blue bead. She seemed cheered by the number of others that were taken, by everyone except Millicent and Cornelia -- who probably wouldn't bother -- and Gilbert -- who probably couldn't forget someone's name if he tried -- and Luna, who just wouldn't think to be less than sincere. 

Millicent gazed into the bowl of beads, which had ended up on table in front of her, spun it, and then looked first at Harry, and then at Draco. 

"I've never flown toward a dragon," she said, sitting back. "Red with gold flame. Make it flicker, since you're both so hot with Transfiguration." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Why do you always go after me?"

"Because you went after him." 

"But you're getting him as well." 

"Yes, but Harry won't mind a Gryffindor bead." 

"Um, pass the bowl?" Ron said.

Draco stared at him. "When?" 

"Visited my brother Charlie, last summer, if you must know." Ron folded his arms over his chest. "He works at the Romanian Dragon preserve, and was one of the handlers during the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"Oh, that one," Draco said. "Rather hot, in a rough way." 

Parvati giggled. 

"All right," Cornelia interrupted. "Here's mine: I've never wanted to ask a Quidditch opponent for pointers."

"Finally!" Ginny exclaimed, summoning a bead. "A real question." 

"Wouldn't anyone who's ever taken Quidditch seriously?" Caradog asked.

"Apparently," 

"I wouldn't!" Ron said indignantly. 

"The question is if you've _wanted_ to," Ginny explained, "not if you'd actually go through with it." 

"I know that! I've never wanted to." 

"I, on the other hand," Draco drawled, "have always been interested in improving my game." 

"Why lavender?" Millicent asked, squinting at Cornelia's bead. 

"The trainee colors for my side," Cornelia answered. 

"Oh. All right, then." 

"We really need to push for pick-up Quidditch in the spring," Harry said. 

"Oh, they'd never allow that." 

"The headmaster said he would," Draco said. "With adequate safeguards. But yes, we should press, or he will put it off until we leave school and have no one to hold him to account."

"Too bad we need to wait for spring," Ron said. 

"Hm." Ginny looked speculatively upward. "I wonder if the Great Hall would work."

"The chandeliers!" Susan exclaimed. 

"They can be raised to the ceiling. And there are shield charms for windows...."

"It's not wide enough," Caradog protested.

"The problem is really the Snitch."

"We'd need to play by indoor rules, of course," Ron declared. 

"Indoor rules? 

"Two Chasers, one Beater with a lighter, baffled Bludger, two smaller hoops, and no Seeker." 

Ron nodded agreement to Draco's summary. "Right. The rules have been around for hundreds of years, but it never really took off, except in some really hot places English wizards went, like Egypt." 

"And some cold ones they didn't," Draco added. "I believe Lapland and Siberia have leagues."

Caradog used his turn to say he had never played Quodpot. He had, but Cornelia, who turned out to have Canadian cousins, was the only other one. They clasped hands briefly, grinning at each other as Blaise (rather self-servingly, Harry thought) said that he had never got full marks on something he felt was incomplete, and smugly took a bead -- followed by all the Ravenclaws, most of the Slytherins, Susan, and Hermione. Luna got Harry on "felt happy when you missed someone" and Ginny got him on "been the only one," and he was glad to hear Seamus say, "Enough of this deep crap. I've never snogged in the greenhouses!" 

Harry's hand met Draco's in the floating bowl of beads. 

 

When the round was over, they talked for a while, with people drifting out of their original seats, and only sometimes back in again. Draco sat in Harry's lap, which turned out to be more comfortable than Harry would have supposed, but was also distracting. When Ron complained, they moved together to Draco's chair, and Hermione switched to Harry's place to continue to talk to them while staying next to Ron. 

By the end of the evening, everything was comfortable. Sophia and Susan left first, and then Luna, Linnet and Gilbert, with Padma following soon after. Seamus and Parvati, predictably, strolled out together, hand in hand, and Harry thought Neville might have left with Hannah, but he had missed the actual departure while finally explaining a selection of his beads to Hermione, who was gratifyingly amused. Ginny nudged him on the way out, and he turned to wave to her, Cornelia, and Caradog, only then realizing how few people were left. To his surprise, Blaise was still there, standing with Millicent, who looked uncomfortable as he whispered something to her. 

Having finished his account of beads that would entertain Hermione, Harry gave Draco a little nudge, and he took the hint and slipped off. With incongruous grace, he leaned against the arm of the sofa, and twisted back to talk to Hermione. Harry stretched and wondered if he wanted another tart to fortify himself for the evening. 

"Blaise is quite right about it being conversation compressed, of course," Draco said cheerfully, sending a quick smile in Blaise's direction. "You can even lie, if you feel the need, although I never have."

"Never?" Ron prodded. Draco glared at him. 

" _Were_ I to have lied, thus far, it would have been to Parvati's question last week. I will thank you not to speak further of it."

Biting his lip, Ron nodded. Deciding Draco required no assistance, Harry strolled over to the sideboard. He was met there by Millicent. She stood so close that he could feel the heat of her body up the line of his right side. 

"Blaise wants to know if you were lying to Granger," she whispered. 

Harry shook his head quickly. He didn't think he had been quiet. "Just didn't mention the ones that might cause trouble," he muttered back, choosing the remaining tart with pear slices. 

She stiffened and leaned closer. Behind them, Draco was relating -- rather loudly, perhaps to help -- people's stories of admiration for other houses. "About the wine," Millicent clarified.

Confused, Harry turned and looked at her. "Why on earth would I?" he asked, surprised into normal volume. 

For a moment, she stared at him, her small eyes narrowing further, and then she nodded and raised a hand. "Blaise? Over here." 

Everyone was watching as Blaise hurried over. Behind him, Draco got to his feet, but Blaise stopped more than an arm's length away. 

"I was wondering about you avoiding wine. Were your injuries more complicated than you let on?" 

Harry couldn't keep himself from looking at Ron. Resolutely, he focused back on Blaise, although he could feel his face heating. 

"I took a hard blow to the liver. That's all." 

"Is there a problem, Blaise?" Draco asked coolly, from closer than Harry would have expected. 

"It simply doesn't make sense," Blaise said stubbornly. "Not if he was properly treated."

"Look," Harry argued, "I'm fine." 

"You certainly should be!"

"What do you know about it?" Hermione asked curiously. "Have you studied healing?" 

"No, but my older sister is a mediwitch at St. Mungo's Non-Magical Trauma ward, so I hear a lot of stories. Last August, there was an Auror who got knifed in the liver. He would have died if he hadn't been brought in by portkey, and so on -- but it was only a _story_ because of a Muggle-born apprentice who was astounded that he not only survived, but left without potions or devices four days later." 

Everyone was over by the sideboard now. There was a moment of silence. 

"Well, that's St. Mungo's...." Hermione didn't sound like she believed herself. 

"Nonsense!" Draco exclaimed. "The board wouldn't allow Madam Pomfrey to work unassisted if she didn't know when to send a student to St. Mungo's."

"What did she tell you, exactly?" Hermione asked. 

"She didn't." Harry couldn't blame people for looking confused at that. "I mean, she was busy when I left. Professor Dumbledore talked to me." 

"The headmaster can't discharge you!" Draco exclaimed. 

"Well, she had started to say I could go, but then was interrupted--" Harry stopped as he remembered that Dumbledore had been part of that interruption.

"He must have misunderstood," Hermione said, with visible relief.

"He said they'd talked about it over lunch." Harry wondered if he should mention why the headmaster had been present. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have injured Julian just to give him a potion, would he? 

"She wasn't at lunch," Blaise said flatly. 

"What am I taking?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Do you have the potion with you?" 

"Yeah. In my bag." 

"What _are_ you thinking?" Draco asked.

"Thinking?"

"You're puzzling something out. It's all over your face." 

"Let's look at the potion first," Harry said firmly. He knew he had caused trouble in the past by jumping to conclusions; he was going to be more careful now.


	36. Unwelcome Protection

 

By unspoken agreement, they moved to sit down, with Harry leaving the pear tart behind. He sat in the middle of the comfy sofa, and was surprised to have Blaise take the end that Draco didn't. Perhaps that had blown over. Hermione levitated another large sofa into place across from them, just a few feet away, and dropped into it straight across from Harry. With only a wry twist of her lip, Millicent sat beside her. Ron was the only one who looked uncomfortable as he took the remaining place across from Draco. He set an arm around Hermione, to tug her close -- and perhaps further from Millicent, Harry thought -- but she absently twisted free and leaned forward to view the bottle that Harry was pulling from his school bag. 

"That's very purple!" She summoned her own bag. "Is it unusual in other ways?" 

"Well, yes," Harry admitted. "It, um, tastes good."

"Not unheard of," Draco said, "but uncommon." 

"That's an advantage though," Blaise put in. "It narrows things down." Hermione had pulled a self-inking quill from her bag and was writing "tastes good to Harry" on a piece of parchment.

"Can you identify the flavor?" Draco asked. 

"Grape, mostly. And it's sweet, but grainy."

"Grainy? Like barley malt, maybe?"

"No, I mean _gritty_. The texture is the only unpleasant bit. Like there's sand in it." 

"So something doesn't dissolve," Blaise said. "That it's _sweet_ is the strangest part, though. Emetics and some energy potions are sweet, but not much else is."

"What's an emetic?"

"A substance that induces purging." Draco's voice was at its most brittle. Harry raised his eyebrows at Blaise. 

"It makes you sick up," Blaise said.

"Oh. No, I've been fine. Though..." Harry hesitated. While he was wondering whether to say that Dumbledore had mentioned nausea, Draco shifted against him. 

"We could ask Severus," he said neutrally.

Hermione flicked the quill in her fingers. "Or just ask Professor Dumbledore what it is." She spoke directly to Harry. "Then you can check with Madam Pomfrey if it's the right thing." 

Harry sighed. He would never figure out the potion on his own, and the others deserved to know why to be suspicious. It wasn't being hasty. 

"Except it was weird," he said.

"Weird?" 

"Too convenient. _Just_ as Madame Pomfrey was saying I could go, Professor Dumbledore came in with Julian -- Draco, the one that got the Babbling Draught that Pansy intended for me?" 

"Devary." 

"Oh, the new prefect?" Hermione said, her face twisting up slightly. "He's a bit odd." 

Draco scowled. "He's perfectly nice, if too curious for his own good." The fingers he had on Harry's leg curled in, pressing uncomfortably. "His ankle was broken, and he told me about the attack."

"You don't know that it was an attack," Harry protested. 

"I don't know that it was an attack _by Albus Dumbledore_ ," Draco countered. "Regardless, it _was_ an attack. Four of my house sustained injuries, although Devary's was the only bad one."

"Fanged Frisbee out of nowhere, wasn't it?" Mill commented, her voice low. "They were blaming it on Peeves." 

"Right," Draco said, "but no one saw him."

Harry squared his shoulders. "I just don't think Dumbledore would hurt a student on purpose."

"Oh, of course not!" Draco snapped. "But you _know_ he would create a situation in which a student was likely to be injured. He's done it with you, hasn't he?"

"I'm not sure tha--"

"And you've complained yourself about the lengths he will go to control you." 

"And _you_ called me self-centered, as I recall." 

After a moment, Draco nodded stiffly. "True. But I believe I later conceded that you had a point." 

They all looked uncertainly at the vial. Hermione's hands were clasped tightly enough to be spotted with white. She wet her lips as if about to speak. 

"Professor Dumbledore told me to come to him if I experienced nausea," Harry blurted out.

Hermione's lips pressed together. Blaise coughed. 

"Well," Draco said finally. "I think we had better determine what the esteemed headmaster is doing to you." 

"It might be just coincidence," Hermione said quickly. 

"We should be open to the possibility," Blaise said, with unexpected tact.

"But not involve any professors just yet," Harry countered. 

"Agreed," Draco said. "We have a considerable volume of the substance to experiment on, and I can get use of one of the potions labs, although not a key to the supply cupboard." His sour mood lifted into mischief. "Who's up for some investigative potions work on a Saturday morning?" 

"Not me," Ron said quickly. "I'm not even taking it any more." 

"Well, _I_ think it sounds fascinating," Hermione countered.

"Of course you do," Millicent snorted, softening the words with a quick, lopsided grin. "Myself, I'm not up to experiments outside of lessons. Draco, you can borrow any of my supplies, though, as long as you replace things before I need them." 

"I'm up for it," Blaise said heartily. "But don't we have Apparation?" 

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "We'll need to stop in time for that." 

"Some of you will," Draco countered. "The rest of us can keep a few tests going, if we've timed them carefully."

Once they had settled who was bringing what, they left the Uncommon Room. At the stairs, Ron and Hermione headed up, presumably to Gryffindor, and Harry and Draco accompanied Millicent and Blaise down, but only to the second floor, where they turned into the corridor. 

"Don't tell me you have another one!" Mill exclaimed, looking back at them from a few steps down. 

"Of course I do," Harry replied. 

"Don't get caught!" she admonished, and thundered past Blaise, down to the next landing and beyond. 

"Another what?" Draco asked, his nose wrinkling.

"Secret place, I assume."

"Ah, that. Ours." 

 

Harry went to breakfast with Hermione while Ron was still asleep. He wanted to get as much as possible done before the Apparation tests started at half eleven. The strap of his school bag pressed into his shoulder with the weight of more potions equipment than he usually carried, and his stomach felt too tight for food. Toast with jam helped. While he was buttering a second slice, Harry saw a familiar eagle owl swoop down to Draco's place at the Slytherin table. The thick envelope it bore tripled in length when Draco detached it. After frowning at the top sheet of the sheaf inside, he dumped the lot into his school bag with little regard. Harry wondered if it was some sort of legal document; Draco had mentioned that some blood-linked property was transferring directly to him, as his father lost the right to retain it.

Draco left while Harry was still waiting impatiently for Hermione to finish her porridge. When they left together, she would have started directly for the dungeons, but Harry led her up one flight, and then brought her down the second-floor corridor to the back stairs. 

"Do we have hounds after us?" Hermione teased, as they descended the narrow stone coil. 

"Can't be certain, can we?" 

"Oh, I see." 

At the upper dungeon level, Harry stopped to query Draco in the Liber Geminus, while Hermione watched with interest. He followed the course Draco described, and came to Blaise lounging against the corridor wall. His face lit up when he saw them. 

"Our private lab," he said, opening a narrow door and waving them in with a flourish. "Step inside." 

Draco was busily setting up small caldrons -- one copper, one iron, and one silver. He turned from the task to give them a smile. 

"Good morning. I've told Severus I'm doing a study of Graphorn blood in different metals, but it's one I did over the summer, so I'll just give him my notes from that."

"That's our excuse for the room?"

"And the non-standard cauldrons." 

Blaise moved close. "The pure metals are often useful in isolating component substances of a potion, for the same reason that they're not good for most standard brewing. Pewter is not only strong, but magically stable, while individual substances may have an affinity or discordance for an element such as copper."

Harry hadn't realized Blaise knew so much about Potions. He sounded almost as knowledgeable as Draco. 

"Which is another advantage to the Graphorn blood experiments as a cover," Draco said, sending Blaise an irritated look. "One combination I tried caused an explosion, so we can explain that as well, if it happens." 

They poured a small amount of Harry's potion in a small glass bowl, with an eyedropper for measuring out drops to test. Draco started by putting a small amount on a convex glass slide and looking at it through a short, wide, brass tube. 

"What is that?" Harry asked.

"A chromatic monocular," Blaise answered, before Draco could reply. "It magnifies the solution and enhances the magical aura of some substances." 

Hermione nodded vigorously, her hand rising near Draco as if itching to grab the device from him. "I've read about them," she said, "but I've never had the opportunity to use one." 

Draco looked up. With a flash of irritation, he stretched an arm past Hermione to hand the device to Harry. "Here," he said. "Have a look." 

Restraining a smile, Harry squeezed in next to Draco and peered down at the drop of potion. The purple took on a pinker tint, this way -- almost glowing. Within it were tiny black dots, each suspended in a colorless, cloudy orb. 

"They look like frog's eggs." 

"Yes, exactly," Draco said, nodding. "But they're much too small." 

"What's like frogs but tiny?" Hermione asked out loud. 

"You know, I don't think I like this."

"Like what, Harry?" Draco asked. "We haven't really found anything yet."

"Looking at what's in my potions. I mean, I know that most potion ingredients are disgusting, but usually I manage not to think about it." 

"It doesn't matter if you don't need to take it." 

"But maybe I do." 

"Maybe." Draco didn't sound as if he thought it likely. "Here's my suggestion. I'm going to separate a dram of the potion into solids and liquid. I'll take the solids. Then Hermione can work with the liquid, and Blaise with some of the complete potion." 

"And me?" Harry said wryly.

"I'm afraid I'm making you everyone's dogsbody. You'll be fetching and prepping whatever we need and don't have time to deal with." 

With a shrug, Harry nodded. "I suppose." 

"Believe me, darling -- I wouldn't have you do even that if I didn't think you were basically competent."

The work started slowly, and then sped up, with Harry being sent to fetch lacewings, or chop wormwood, or grind unicorn horn to a finer powder. Sometimes he heard Hermione mutter, or Blaise exclaim, or Draco growl something that might have been interesting if he had understood it. While he was milking dandelion stems, a fizzing noise from Draco's copper caldron attracted his attention. He saw the others watching too, as the murky liquid sloshed and popped. 

"Well." Draco crossed his arms over his chest as his gaze rose to meet Harry's. "The headmaster was correct that you shouldn't drink while on this potion."

"Oh?" 

"Alcohol dissolves the protective coating around the doxy eggs." 

"Doxy eggs!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified. 

"I'm fairly certain, yes."

"What's a doxy?" Harry asked. 

"Biting fairy," Hermione said quickly. "They're poisonous." 

"A few bites won't kill you," Blaise amended. 

"Most people, at least. Think of them as wasps." 

"The eggs, though...." Blaise made a face. "There was a wave of food poisoning among children when I was eight that was traced to a doxy infestation in a candy kitchen. When the eggs get in food, they cause horrible vomiting. I didn't get it, but my brother did, and came home from Hogwarts for a few days, because the hospital wing was out of beds."

"I haven't felt sick, though-- oh."

"I think the headmaster may be under the misimpression that you are still overindulging in alcohol," Draco said dryly. "He should realize that now you are of age, it would scarcely interest you any further." 

"I don't think _that_ was it," Hermione said tartly, and Draco conceded with a graceful shrug. 

"Perhaps it is just as germane that we can flirt more directly now. The point still stands." 

"So, do you think that's all it does?" Harry asked, relieved. "Just make me sick if I drink?" That seemed unfair, but the critical part was that it was harmless.

Hermione winced. "I don't think that's all of it," she said reluctantly. "The chromatic monocular is showing a very spiky luminescence in the solution I isolated in iron. I don't know what it is yet, but it's definitely magically active."

"However," Blaise said, " _I_ need to get to Apparation lessons. I'll require the flexibility when I leave school, and there is no chance that I'm letting my dad -- the splinch king of Salslee -- instruct me." 

"And Apparation is more than a convenience for Harry," Draco added. "So, what is our plan?"

"We could meet again this evening," Hermione said uncertainly.

"I don't think we need to," Harry said. "What we've got is enough for me to take it to Snape."

"You'll tell him we found doxy eggs in it?" 

"Of course not! I'll just ask him about the taste -- 'I thought potions couldn't be sweetened. What makes this different?' As if I was sure he made it." 

Draco nodded. "An effective approach. If he _didn't_ make it -- as I expect he did not -- he should be offended enough to investigate." 

"Is the headmaster enough of a brewer for this?"

"Blaise!" Hermione exclaimed. "The twelve uses of Dragon's blood?" 

"Oh!" Blaise stared at her. "Er ... I rather forget that he's the wizard on that card." 

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "He seems like a real person." 

Hermione shot him a sharp look. "He is--"

"I _know_."

"Oh. Sorry." 

 

The Apparation tests were short, but each student had an individual interview, which lengthened the wait. Harry's evaluator asked about accidental Apparation, but didn't seem to expect a positive response. 

"Shed roof, you say?" she asked, frowning.

"Yes." 

"Could it have been a leap? Weightlessness is a much--"

"I was running away, and then I was on the shed roof." 

Frowning, the woman led him off for an immediate test. Harry didn't apparate on his first two tries, but when the third was interrupted by a red flash and a loud bang, he found himself behind his tester, gasping for breath. 

"I say!" 

"Good instincts, Harry," called a familiar voice, and Harry turned to see Auror Tonks sheathing her wand. While he was still blinking in surprise, she flashed her hair pink and turned back to a flickering Justin Finch-Fletchley. "Easy, there!"

 

"How did you do?" Draco asked, when Harry finally made it down to the Chamber of Secrets.

"Not bad. I'm in the accelerated class, which meets all day tomorrow, and then all day next Sunday. I think they switch us back to the regular one if we can't pass at the end of that." 

Draco looked sharply up. "With no previous experience?"

"Well, I've done it accidentally." 

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you have."

"I wouldn't have managed it today, if Tonks hadn't startled me at just the right time. Have you been talking to her?" 

"No, but perhaps I should." Draco smirked. "Perceptive of her. And Hermione?"

"Thinking too much, I'm sure of it! She was muttering to herself about the _theory_ of it the whole time we were waiting." 

"Ah. But when she accomplishes it, her execution will be flawless. Blaise?"

"I don't know, actually. He disappeared right after his test." 

Draco snorted. "The dust probably wore off. Don't buy him more of that." 

"Buy..." Harry frowned. "Oh, the Gargoyle dust?" 

"Exactly. You _must_ have noticed." 

"Noticed what?" 

Sighing, Draco rested his forehead on his fingers. "How 'on' our dear friend was for this morning's tests?"

"I wouldn't think that would help with Apparation."

"Not Apparation, you fool! The potions analysis!" 

Harry blinked. Blaise _had_ seemed to know everything. He felt the world tip under him. "He said it was just for exams." 

Draco snorted. "And you believed him?"

"More or less." Harry frowned to himself. "Or actually, I suppose I didn't particularly care, at the time, as long as it _could_ be safe. We might as well have just met." 

"Right. Well, he's finding being _impressively_ knowledgeable seductive. You might pretend that you noticed and have a word with him; he certainly doesn't listen to me, anymore." 

Harry nodded guiltily. Casting around for something else to think about, he saw the edge of a large envelope protruding from Draco's bag. 

"What was that letter you got?"

"Letter?" 

"From home." 

"Oh, that." Draco grimaced. "More of a dossier, I'd say. Background information on three women that Mother thinks might make a suitable match for me." Draco assumed a pose of unconcern that was too stiff to be natural. "Also boring." 

"May I see?" 

"If you wish. If you want to veto any one of them, you may, with sufficient reason." 

Harry's neck stiffened. "That she'd be _marrying_ you."

"That, I'm afraid, is insufficient. Someone will. However, I will consider more focused arguments."

While he had been speaking, Draco had drawn the large envelope out of his bag, and he now handed it over to Harry. "Here you go. There was an accompanying letter, which I've since put with others from home. For the most part, just standard greetings, but she's also said she expects me home for the Yule party."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Harry had to swallow to breath.

"Harry?"

"So you're leaving for the holidays after all."

"No! Just that weekend. It's all she wants, I believe. She expressed no opinion about Christmas itself." Draco's face twisted. "The object is social introductions, not family togetherness."

"To show you off to these girls." 

"The ones I do not discount _will_ be invited to our ball, I am sure." Draco sighed. "You knew this would happen." 

"After school. Not _now_."

"Certainly nothing would be finalized until after school -- for quite some time after. I don't expect anything that would require me to avoid admitting to our relationship until at least September."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. The envelope was still on his lap. Draco reached out for it. 

"Come to bed?" 

Harry slapped a hand down, preventing Draco from retrieving the papers. "I'm not in the mood." 

"It will only be a meeting or two, and I will be here for the rest of the holiday. Don't sulk." 

Ignoring Draco's inviting touch, Harry drew the papers out of the envelope. The top one showed an elegantly dressed young lady with softly curled blond hair. She lifted a gloved hand to her lips and blew a kiss.

"Esmée Sinclair," he read. "French born, but of a British father who stayed well away from British politics. Educated at Beauxbatons, where she is in her final year. Mother's family (Dumont) has good fertility, but father's--" He looked up. "Your mother researched how many kids her ancestors had?"

"That is the _point_ , is it not?" Draco huffed, seizing papers and envelope back. "I don't want to marry someone who will take years to give me a child." He sent Harry a flirtatious look. "It would be that many more years before I get you back."

"You won't get me back." Harry's neck tightened painfully as he looked away.

Draco sighed. "If you say so. Don't be cross, Lightning. I'm trying to think about it as little as possible."

The pet name bled off some of Harry's tension, and he heard himself sigh, and felt his hand rub across his eyes, as if his leaden mood could be dispelled like sleepiness. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry-- Or I'm not, I still think it's an awful reason to marry, and don't see how I _couldn't_ mind, but I'm sorry I can't just turn it off, like we both want. I _can't_ though, and I need to go do something else for a bit, so it's not so ... so _now_. Let's go talk to Snape, or I can go talk to him if you want to work, and maybe I'll be able to ignore this when I get back."

Draco's hand stroked down his arm. "I'll come with you," he said.

"Because you don't trust me."

"No. Because I don't want coming back _here_ to be coming back to _me_ , to be coming back to a disagreement." Draco set his bag aside and sprang to his feet. "Shall we?"

"Okay." 

 

They found Snape's cauldrons empty but freshly cleaned, and went on to his apartments. When he answered the door, his eyebrows lifted, but only briefly. 

"Draco and Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He stepped aside, obviously not expecting an answer -- or at least not while they were still in the hallway. As they sat, the door closed firmly behind them, he lifted his head. "Go ahead, Draco." 

Harry looked at Draco, but he seemed as mystified by this as Harry was. 

"Actually, I was the one with a question, sir," Harry ventured. Snape's eyes flicked back to Draco, and then narrowed. Draco gazed over at the bookshelves, as if he hadn't noticed. Awkwardly, Harry pressed on, pulling the bottle of potion from his bag. 

"It's nothing too serious. I was just curious about this potion I'm on. You usually say potions shouldn't be sweetened, and I wondered what made this one different."

He held the bottle out. Snape snatched it away. For a moment, he tilted it in front of a lamp, sending a purple glow across his growing sneer. 

"Where did you obtain this, Potter?" 

Harry blinked. "In the Hospital Wing. It's for the liver inj--"

"Do not lie to me!" 

Harry found himself pressing back into the sofa. Irritated, he straightened. "I'm not _lying_ ," he snapped. "Professor Dumbledore said one swallow of it, every day at four o'clock--"

"The headmaster does not work in the Hospital Wing."

"Madam Pomfrey was busy. He'd come in just as she was saying I could go, and--"

"I thought it was rather suspicious, sir," Draco said coolly. "Don't you supply most of the healing potions for the school?"

Snape's long fingers curled around the bottle. "Yes." His attention settled on Harry. "And you required a highly individualized and complex series of healing draughts, but they should have left you fully cured. Indeed, Madam Pomfrey complimented me on your condition, so I am quite certain they did so." He tipped the bottle again. "Whatever this may be, it has nothing to do with your injuries." 

Harry had suspected as much, but the pronouncement, coming from Snape with such certainty, made him feel queasy. 

"Should I take it, sir?"

"No." Snape's nostrils flared with his sneer. "The esteemed headmaster has overreached. From time to time, he confuses greatness with infallibility." His fingers curled around the bottle. "I will retain this garish substance for testing, and you will hold your tongue until I have results. Report any oddities in your condition to me, and to me only, is that clear?"

"You don't think we should ask Madame Pomfrey--"

" _I_ will talk to her. You have no subtlety. All your suspicions would be on immediate display." 

While Harry tried to bite his smile into something less revealing, Draco yawned behind a politely upraised hand. If the point was to distract attention from Harry, it worked well. Snape's head pivoted to him like a hawk sighting prey. Harry found himself wondering what was up. Snape had been on edge since they entered.

"You received a letter from home."

Ignoring the accusing tone, Draco studied his nails. "How perceptive of you to notice." 

Snape's lip curled in a sneer. "And this folly of your mother's -- do you intend to visit as she has demanded?"

Draco's eyes flashed in the light as he looked up. "I will return home for our ball, as she _requested_." 

"Do not trust the safety of your father's house."

"It is not Father's house now; it is mine! And Mother has not been harmed, despite speaking against him at the trial." Draco scowled. "You were helping her with protections, or so you said."

Still sneering, Severus inclined his head. "Indeed. Perhaps her continued health indicates that our efforts to secure the property were successful. However, you must also consider that she may have been left unharmed to lure you in." 

"I cannot stay away forever." 

"Understood." Snape let out a breath. Deliberately, he laid his hands out on the arms of his chair. Harry thought they might have been clenched while obscured by his sleeves. "That is why I will be accompanying you to provide protection. While you are in the manor, I will stay close enough to respond, should--" 

"What?" Draco snapped. "No! You will not impose on Mother during--"

"She has agreed."

"Because you bullied her, I expect!"

With a snarl, Snape came to his feet. "Because she can see reason!" 

"I won't have it! I am not some child, who needs a minder hovering over him lest he tread too close to the reflecting pool." 

Snape's mouth had narrowed to a dangerous hard line. He leaned across the side of the couch, into Draco's space. 

"I will continue to protect you as I see fit." 

"I'm an adult!" 

"You are my student and my spellson. I am well aware that I mean nothing to you. You are not the one who chooses to be here, as you have repeatedly made clear. That does not change this."

With a shove back from the sofa, Snape straightened. "Get out." 

"Sev--"

"GET OUT!"

Draco stumbled to his feet, but Harry was already standing. He half-dragged Draco to the door, old responses taking over at Snape's harsh command. 

"Come on!"

"But--"

The door slammed behind them. Harry felt better immediately. It took a faint whimper from Draco for him to realize his lover was trembling. 

"Hey." He settled an arm around Draco's waist. "It's okay."

"I didn't-- I certainly never intended --"

"Do you really only visit him with me?" 

"No, of course n--" Draco frowned. "Well, in the last few weeks. Perhaps...." He hesitated again. "Perhaps since -- Well, I'm sure I did once in October. But he's _Professor Snape_! He's not supposed to care! I'm a seventh-year student, I'm busy, and he's _always_ busy, as far as I can tell." 

Gently, Harry steered him towards the stairs. "Come on, then. Our clubhouse."

"I need to talk to him!"

"Later. Once he's calmed down."

Draco planted his feet. "I don't want to go down there!" 

Harry stopped. Draco turned as if he would knock on Snape's door, and Harry was sure Snape would not receive apologies well. He tugged again. 

"Flying," he said firmly. "You need some freedom and some fresh air, and then you'll be able to plan how to make amends." 

Draco trailed along with him up the corridor. "But he'll still come," he said plaintively. 

"I don't think it's a bad idea." 

"You don't know what he's like with my mother! Dinners will be torture! I won't be able to talk with her. I thought we'd have a chance to really _talk_!" 

"Oh, I see. I'm sure you could arrange something." 

"When he's 'close enough to respond?'"

"He could probably agree to some individual rooms as being secure. You just need to let him know." 

Draco looked like he was going to argue, but a group of fifth and sixth year Slytherins emerged around the curve of the staircase, and he shifted to a lighter tone. "I need to get my broom. Wait outside, this time?" 

"If you insist." 

"I do. Nott's been muttering death threats in his sleep, Blaise says. I'll only be a moment."

He darted off down the corridor towards the Slytherin Common Room, and Harry followed at a saunter. Moving slowly would diminish the awkward period of lingering by Slytherin's door, and the twisting dungeon passages would have him out of wand shot of the younger years behind him more often than not. 

_"Susara,"_ he hissed, as quietly as possible. 

_"Yes, dear Master?"_

_"Will you watch the people behind me, and warn me if any take out a wand?"_

_"Gladly."_

He felt her shift to fulfill her task, even as he continued on at an unconcerned walk. She reported no cause for alarm, so he did not need to turn. He wasn't surprised when the group slowed as they reached him.

"Your torclinde is violating her pose, Potter," someone remarked scornfully. Harry glanced over. It was Cassandra Vere. Julian Devary, looking nervous, and Astoria Greengrass, looking amused, were near her. The others still trailed behind. 

"She was keeping an eye on you, as I asked," he replied with smile. "It's not quite having eyes in the back of my head, but close enough." He focused on Julian. Wondering if the boy had been hurt so Dumbledore could approach him made him feel ... not guilty, he decided, but protective. "Are you all right now, J-- Devary?" he asked. "That ankle looked pretty bad." 

Julian nodded. "Mostly. As long as we don't get an early snow; I'm not supposed to strain it, this week, and I'd hate to stay out of the snow fights." He cleared his throat nervously. "And you?" 

"Recovered." Harry grinned. "Avoiding Bludgers." 

 

Flying was just the thing, both for Draco and for Harry. They played a mad game of Follow the Leader, swooping and diving and turning so fast that their Warming charms couldn't stay fully in place, and then stumbling red-cheeked and icy-fingered into the changing rooms to warm each other up. By the end of it, Harry felt optimistic again. Dumbledore was worried about him: that was almost nice, if stupid and badly handled. Snape would protect Draco at Malfoy Manor: that was useful, and would also keep Draco's visit as short as he had promised. Draco needed to let Snape know that he mattered: that meant this ridiculous construct of always visiting together had to stop, and because Harry had promised Hermione to visit the Quiris with her at the beginning of next term, Draco agreed that Harry could be alone with Snape also. 

 

That evening, Harry waited for a chance to talk to Hermione. She was revising with Ron, and although it was clear that he was disrupting her studies with his frequent questions, remained there until he declared himself done for the night. As soon as he disappeared up the boys' staircase, she sighed, tucked a scrap of parchment into her book, and closed it with a thump. Standing, she looked around at the detritus of her session -- notes, abandoned drafts, standard text books, heavy, age-dark library tomes, and bright new volumes from Flourish & Blotts covered the low table and half the seat next to her. She began gathering the parchment. 

"Here," Harry said, "let me help." He stacked the books, heaviest and largest on the bottom, and then lifted off a manageable load, which was everything except one extra-wide atlas. She used that as a table for the parchment and quills, moving her inks to her school bag. 

"Thanks," she said, as they carried the lot to her room. 

"No problem." Experimentally, Harry focused on her door. _"Alohomora,"_ he commanded, willing it to open. To his satisfaction, it swung wide. 

Her eyebrows scrunched down as she edged inside. "Did you do that? Without a wand?" At his nod, her frown turned to a wide smile. "Wonderful! Your lessons are going well, then?" 

"Yeah." He waved the door closed, only realizing what he had done when her eyes widened. "Um -- sometimes I'm better at it when I don't think about it much." 

Although rolling her eyes, she smiled. "How very like you." She hesitated. "I should be researching." 

It wasn't a request to leave. Harry leaned back against the desk where he had put down the books. "I just wanted to ask you about something." 

"As long as it isn't our Charms assignment."

"No. I'm done with that." His grin faded as he wondered how to begin. "Um... Christmas." 

"Yes?"

Asking her to go away suddenly seemed too rude. "Are you going to the Burrow?" he tried. When she looked glumly away, he realized that he had expected either pleasure or guilt. "Hermione?" 

Her gaze fixed the pyramid of books, she drew her lip under her teeth. "I'm not sure he's going to invite me again." 

"Oh." It hadn't occurred to Harry that Ron might not have mentioned the matter yet. He wondered if that explained some of the awkwardness between them earlier, and if Ron had even noticed it. "I expect he will." Quite suddenly, Harry found himself with an armful of Hermione. She twisted into him, hiding her face. "Shh," he soothed. "He probably just hasn't thought of it yet." _The idiot._

"Yes, but--" Hermione's harsh exhalation was warm against his neck. "I don't want to be invited out of laziness. I sometimes worry that's all this is; I'm the girl that he _knows_ , therefore I must be the one for him."

Awkwardly, Harry patted her shoulder. He couldn't say she was wrong when he wasn't sure. "At least I know that's not the issue with Draco," he offered instead. "I'm not what he's supposed to have at all. And he won't keep me, no matter how much he wants to."

She pressed closer. "Sorry. Should I go home?" 

"If you don't mind? It almost feels like it's ending already, though I know it's not really over until June. But this would be our last time to be ... well, just us." 

"And me?" 

The question was unexpectedly plaintive. He hugged her close. "I'll see plenty of you after we leave school." He laughed slightly. "Well, if I live, and you don't leave the country." 

Her stifled giggle was a flutter against his ribs. "It's not that bad!"

"Well, it could be. But I'll promise you the next Christmas, if you want it." 

Her head finally lifted, and she was smiling. "All right. I can be patient."

 


	37. An Invitation

 

Sunday, Harry was busy with the intensive Apparation class, held in a tent just outside the Hogwarts gates. He was glad to avoid wandless magic with Snape. By next week, he hoped, Draco would have smoothed things over with his spellfather. When he asked before their session with McGonagall, which she had moved until evening, Draco told him that he had sent Severus a letter, saying that he valued his support and suggesting that they dine together on Monday. 

They arrived at the practical to find that their stained glass doors were exactly as they had left them the week before. Not a single fine arch of the elaborate wooden frames had bowed or cracked, and the glass within had remained flat and unmarred, the colors true. Professor McGonagall declared the work stable enough to start their final project -- the cabinet for Draco's mother -- and presented them with the base of a cherry tree. The trunk below the first bough was only four feet, but Harry cut through it there, and stripped the bark, and Draco split it in half, and flattened each half into a plank, seven feet long and impossibly wide, to make the sides. For the back, they joined the lower boughs, and Harry grew the grain of their favorite into the rest, until it looked like naturally harvested wood of some far larger tree. It was soothing work -- he had been surprised to discover a peacefulness in working with wood -- but not quite enough to overcome the thought of Draco's 'dossier' and his plans for his time at Malfoy Manor. It seemed ridiculous to be making something beautiful for the woman who was arranging it all. 

After the session, Draco headed down to the dungeons to drop off his books before dinner, and Harry to the Uncommon Room to meet Millicent. He spent the walk picturing Esmée Sinclair, and wondering what she hoped to get out of marrying a complete stranger. Money, probably. Or perhaps she, also, felt it her duty to breed for her line. At the mirror, he was taken aback by the harsh lines of his scowl. He took a minute -- and several tries -- to find a more neutral expression before reaching through the glass for the latch. 

Millicent was lying on her back on the comfy sofa, with her feet -- still in heavy work boots -- up on one arm of it. She had dissolved her glamour, and her shoulders were massive when she twisted to look at him.

"Someone bludgeon your Krup?" 

Chastened, Harry stopped in his tracks. Looking aside, he shrugged. "Sorry. Is it that obvious?"

Millicent swung her feet down to the floor. "Considering you don't usually go about scowling like Nott, yes. What's wrong?" 

"It's just Draco. His mother sent him papers on girls she thinks he should marry."

After a hard bark of a laugh, Millicent shook her head. "Purebloods!" 

"He acts like it make _sense_." 

"Of course he does. Catch someone young enough, and you can convince them of anything."

_Like that magic doesn't exist_ , thought Harry, and he frowned to himself. That hadn't lasted past Hagrid's pink umbrella. "Like that you should be a proper lady?" 

Millicent twisted away. When she spoke, her words were slow, as if she was still thinking them out. "Sometimes people can get past a thing, or _need_ to get past it. I mean, there are some things just that just _can't_ be true...."

"Magic doesn't exist." 

"What?" That was enough to make her turn back.

"My Muggle relatives. They were very insistent that I believe that magic doesn't exist. It made a lot of things far more confusing than they needed to be. But when it wasn't accidental -- I knew it when I saw it." 

"Of course." Millicent's brows drew down as she thought. "Harry... he won't. There's nothing like that to get him past believing that he's superior to us." 

"He put me above his old goons, and says Hermione--" 

"Clever, yes. Fun, yes. He even knows you're more powerful than him, I expect. But he's a _Malfoy_ , and you're a mongrel." As the word left her lips, she raised her hands defensively. "I'm not saying he doesn't love you; anyone can see it when he looks at you. But breeding is breeding."

Harry's shoulders stiffened. "Marriage shouldn't be breeding."

She grinned at him. "Mongrel." 

"Don't call me names." 

"Oh don't huff! I'm just saying I agree. It won't be for you or me -- right. But that's how _his_ lot does it. You won't change that. If you were a _girl_ , you wouldn't change that." 

Scowling, Harry kicked the leg of the sofa. It hurt his toe. "Let's talk about something else," he said, plopping down on the cushions. "How are your glamours doing? You don't have one, at the moment."

"It didn't fail," she said defensively. "I just wanted to see who I was now." She bit her lip. "And I needed to see if I could do it from nothing." 

"Right," he agreed. "Term ends in less than two weeks." 

Nodding, she stood up. "I think I can manage. Watch this." 

Harry was used to performing the glamour on her. When he did that, he imposed his image on how she appeared before he started to cast. He didn't really get to see the change. Now he watched as she shrunk several inches. He looked down as something distorted at her hips, but didn't catch it, refocusing higher just in time to see a slight rounding to what he would still call a square jaw. 

"Huh."

"What did I get wrong?" she asked wryly. 

"Nothing. I just can't watch while I'm doing it."

"Don't be ridiculous." 

"No really. I have to think about what I _want_ to see, not what I _do_ see."

Gradually, her frown cleared. "All right. Maybe that's why mine tend to drift if I look in a mirror." 

"I expect so." He sat up to meet her eyes. "Are you ready, do you think? For the holiday?"

The sofa cushions shifted with her twist away. 

"Mill? You did fine." 

"It's --" She growled. "I don't know. What if I can't.... It's two weeks!"

He took the calming breath that he wanted her to take, and pushed all the reassurance he could into his voice. "I think you'll be fine. But I have a backup plan." 

"Oh?" she challenged. "A Gryffindor plan?" 

He chuckled. "Hermione thought you should bring Polyjuice potion. She was trying to figure out if hair from a month ago would make you look like you did then."

Millicent frowned. "Even if it did - and I had enough of both -- I can't hide taking it every hour." 

"Right. So I came up with another idea. Mix up a short-term sex-change potion, and if you have problems, take it. You can rant and rave about being pranked, and then pretend to hide in your room, but come see me instead." 

"How would I get back here?"

"Mill! You're good enough at Apparation to have tested out of the classes!" 

"Yeah, but Da hasn't taken me for my license." 

"So don't get caught!" 

With a short, barking laugh, she shook her head, but not in disagreement. " _There's_ the Gryffindor touch. You were starting to worry me. Should I take the tunnel in?"

He shook his head. "I expect Professor Dumbledore is keeping an eye on it now. Send me an owl, and Draco or I will floo out." 

With a grin, she punched him gently on the shoulder. "That's really quite a good plan. It can't be a sex change potion, because that will interfere, but I could use something else that alters appearance -- an Uglifying brew, maybe, or Ancestral Revelation." She shot Harry a look. "Ask Malfoy for me?"

"To make you something?"

"To figure out what won't mess up my transition potions. You can show him the formulas we're using. I think he had potions interactions in his nursery rhymes."

 

Tuesday, when Harry's NEWT Potions lesson went until lunch, Professor Snape had him stay after. The look he got from Hermione was more warning than sympathy; Draco, his lips tight, tucked her arm in his to lead her politely away. Courtly attention from Draco, Harry mused as they departed, still tended to disarm her. 

When the last student had left, Harry was not surprised that Snape waved the door closed and cast privacy charms on it. 

"What is it?" Harry asked. He hadn't yet had a chance to talk to Draco about how last night's visit with Snape had gone. 

Snape rolled his eyes. "What do you expect? You gave me a potion, if you recall." 

"Oh." Harry swallowed. "Draco loves you, you know." 

"Spare me your naivety." Snape thumped a familiar bottle down on to the table between them. "This, Potter, is a trap." 

Harry didn't need to fake looking upset. "How?"

"It contains doxy eggs -- a mild poison -- wrapped in a gelatin of Graphorn hooves and powdered dragon scales." Snape began to pace -- a restless, angry movement that reminded Harry of a caged tiger. "If you consume a small amount of alcohol -- or a considerable amount of vinegar -- this gelatin will dissolve, exposing you to the poison and causing severe vomiting." 

Harry winced. "Oh. So the point is that he'll know if I'm drinking?" 

"Primarily," Snape said, breaking his pattern to turn towards him. "However, it also contains both Quiri hair and Unicorn horn. The effects of the former are not well documented, but both react to Dark Arts. I believe that if you practiced Dark Arts while consuming this daily that you would develop visible symptoms -- perhaps just anxiety, at first, but fairly quickly progressing to tremors and paranoia, if the interaction continues."

"Lovely," Harry spat. "Why does everyone think I'm so out of control?"

"Perhaps because you _have been_ rather out of control?" 

With a long, dark sigh, Harry settled back against a table. "He could just _ask_ me. I need to avoid Dark Arts anyway, at the moment, and I have too much schoolwork to use up free time getting drunk." 

Only Snape's head moved, tilting slightly. "Do you mean to say that you will take this substance?" 

"No." 

Relieved to see Snape relax, Harry released his shoulders with a shrug. "It's probably still a week before I can approach the Quiris, though. More, maybe. I think I better not confront Dumbledore--"

" _Professor_ Dumbledore."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'd better not confront _Professor_ Dumbledore until I can hold a Quiri."

Smugly, Snape nodded. "Agreed. If he realizes you have slipped under his net, he may well make that challenge. You must present a visage of wounded innocence, or your protests will be dismissed out of hand." He smirked. "Or you could eat twenty pickles, and watch him try to explain to Madame Pomfrey how you have suddenly been poisoned."

"Ugh." Harry shuddered. "I'll wait, thanks." 

 

"Is that Draco's owl?"

The bird in question was folding its massive wings in front of Harry's plate. Imperiously, it thrust one burdened foot out towards him, black talons stretching out below the parchment.

"It's his parents'," Hermione replied to Ron. "Well, his mother's now, I suppose." 

Gingerly, Harry reached out to take the heavy envelope. It wasn't red, but creamy white, which he supposed was a good sign. Still, his stomach squirmed as he slid a finger under the thick Malfoy seal at the back. 

"Oi!"

The talons descended on his last sausage and grabbed it, the bird lifting heavily off at Ron's exclamation. It flapped across the room to settle behind Draco and tear into its prize. 

"Typical," Ron said. "Thinks it owns everything." 

"I would have given him the sausage anyway," Harry said, looking away from Draco's stare and sliding the letter from the envelope. He just caught the embossed card that fell out of it. 

"But it didn't wait for you to offer, did it?"

"What's that?" Hermione leaned forward. "Are you being invited to something?" 

The invitation gave off a bright sound of ringing bells as Harry tilted it, reading the elaborate gilt script. "The Malfoy Yule Ball, apparently." 

"Oh, you can't go!" 

"Let me read the letter, will you?"

She sniffed, and Ron groaned, but they made no other interruption as Harry unfolded the parchment and read.

  


_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_You are cordially invited to the Malfoy Yule Ball._

_This is, I acknowledge, irregular. Our past interactions have been brief and impersonal, and no Potter has been invited to any Malfoy social event since three years before your father's marriage. Furthermore, standard etiquette would dictate that I feign to not have noticed the nature or intensity of my son's attachment to you. Since any one of these factors might influence you to decline, allow me to present my reasoning._

_In a letter last week, Draco made the extraordinary declaration that he would not, if asked, deny his involvement with you. This entirely disrupts the normal placement of you in my social circles. Furthermore, I can no longer deny that I am intrigued. I have always believed him to possess my own exacting taste in companions of any sort. To claim such devotion of him, you must have qualities that I cannot see from afar._

_In short, I wish to get to know you -- my son's chosen paramour. My first thought was that you should come for our ball -- unannounced, of course -- and then stay for a more private visit the next day, but I quickly realized that once you have been seen here, lingering would be far too perilous. I cannot exclude every guest who would wish you harm, so you must be gone before plots can be brooded and hatched. My suggestion, then, is that you arrive the day before the ball. That will give us time for personal interaction before the next evening's festivities._

_I cannot fault you if you fear to accept. However, please realize that I place great value on the traditions of hospitality. For as long as you are my guest, I will endeavor to ensure your safety. You may consult with Severus Snape on this matter -- Draco assures me that you are on cordial terms with him, and I will assure you that he knows me well._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

  


"What does it say?"

Mrs. Malfoy's script, while not as extravagantly looped as that on the invitation, had apparently been too fine to read over his shoulder. Harry quickly folded the letter and stuffed it in his bag. 

"Just manners," he lied, aware of other housemates looking on. "She has to invite me, but I'm not expected to accept or anything."

If he did, he realized, it had better be a secret. 

 

As soon as Snape left, Harry followed, cutting over to the back stair to avoid Slytherins heading to or from the dungeons. He would see a few of Hufflepuffs along this route, but they were likely to assume he was going to meet Malfoy, or even that it wasn't their business. Hufflepuffs were good that way. 

Snape's head start and more direct path would have ensured that he reach his destination before Harry, even if his stride were not longer. Harry looked in his office, classroom, and the adjoining lab before going to his personal apartments. Snape must have been monitoring the corridor, somehow, because the door appeared before Harry could touch the stones to expose it, and it opened immediately after. 

"Come in." Behind Harry, Snape glanced down the hallway -- perhaps for watchers, or perhaps for Draco -- and then shut the door again. "I've been expecting you."

"Do you know about Mrs. Malfoy's letter?" Harry asked. 

Snape's mouth twisted. 

"The gist of it," he said. "She Floo-called me this morning, just as I was leaving for breakfast. Yesterday would have been more convenient, but she didn't want me to predispose you to reject it, I expect."

"Do you think I should, then?" 

Neither of them had sat. Now Snape leaned back against the narrow table by the door, his hands resting at edge beside his hips. "What do _you_ think?" he asked keenly. 

Harry took a deep breath. 

"I think it's dangerous," he said. "She could betray me. But Draco would be furious if she did, and I think that matters to her. And she couldn't do anything with him nearby, because he'd try to help me, and she wouldn't want him hurt, you said. What do you think? She said you knew her well and would agree that she, um, 'values the laws of hospitality.'"

"I do know her well." Snape's face twisted. "Or as well as it is possible. You must realize, Harry, that she scarcely regards you as human."

"Oh." The assertion settled in Harry's stomach like a lump of lead. 

"There are, however, other factors to consider. Yes, hospitality is one of the traditional values that matters to her keenly. You are also correct, I believe, that she loves her only surviving child -- even beyond all causes and potential social and monetary gains. I am quite certain that she has too much discernment to deceive herself that he would forget you if you were murdered in her domain. She is also quite actively repositioning herself politically. You are of more value to her having survived the visit than not." 

"So you think I should accept." 

Snape glared. "I think that _Narcissa Malfoy_ is not a threat to you, at least physically. Her guests, however, most certainly would be. Not all of them, but many."

"I could leave before the ball." 

Eyebrows flicking up, Snape straightened. "Ah. But that lessens your value to her. She hopes, I believe, that your presence at such a well-attended event will reposition her socially, making her more palatable to liberal families like the Bones or the Hanleys." 

"Hanleys? Linnet's family?" 

"Exactly. Those are the circles your father's family was active in." His mouth quirked upward before settling back into a sneer. "The LeFays are another such family, leaving their daughter particularly vulnerable to your attentions." 

"Vulnerable?" Harry exclaimed. "It's not harming her any, is it? Talking to me?" 

"Most likely not," Snape responded, raising his large nose. "I have had complaints about your ... 'manipulation' of her. I will continue to reply that Gryffindors are familiar by habit, and allowing a first-year to address you by your given name is probably not unusual for you."

"Of course it isn't."

"Exactly. Now back to the matter at hand. The guests--" 

Stopping suddenly, Snape turned to the side, where a frog-faced, horned gargoyle carved into a pillar had left its place to jab one long, knobby finger at the door. "Ah. Draco has arrived, I expect. Shall we invite him to join us?" 

"It's up to you. I mean, I have to talk to him anyway, but I don't mind doing it separately."

With a brief puff of breath, Snape dismissed the matter. "I am not avoiding him, Potter. And I have yet to have an account of the letter. If I feel we need to talk privately later, I will send you a note this evening." 

With that, he spoke a command, and the door fell open. 

"Took you long enough," Draco snapped, striding in.

"Excuse me?" 

"Good morning, Severus," Draco said insincerely. "So good to see you." He turned on Harry. " _What_ did my mother send you?" 

"An invitation to your Yule Ball." 

"And you spoke to _Severus_ , rather than to me?" 

"You were still in the Great Hall," Harry snapped back. "I thought it could wait until this afternoon, since we have plans anyway. I was hardly going to talk about it in the corridor."

"Yet you opened the letter in front of everyone." 

"I didn't expect an invitation!" 

"What do you plan to do about that, Harry?" Snape interjected. "Should you decide to accept, that is?"

"Oh, I'm telling anyone who asks that the letter made clear I wasn't to accept. I don't think anyone saw it but Ron, Hermione, and Neville, though."

Draco crossed between them and dropped emphatically down on the sofa. "And what did it say?" With a coy glance at Harry, he patted the cushion next to him. "Show me." 

" _Do_ make yourself at home," Snape said.

"You wanted me to, as I understood it." 

Snape let out his breath in a huff. "Yes. However, I dislike being ignored for your boyfriend." 

"He has the letter, doesn't he? And _you_ ignore _me_ , except to criticize." 

"That's enough!" Harry exclaimed, stepping between them. Draco, still on the sofa, had sprawled his legs out while crossing his arms over his chest. Snape had drawn up into a narrow tower of black. "Professor, you're supposed to be mature," Harry snapped out, before turning his glower on Draco. "And _you're_ supposed to have manners." 

"Ah, but the counterpart to manners is the insult of dropping them," Snape replied, sneering at the boy on his sofa. 

"What would you care?" Draco asked, sitting up more properly. "Mother says too much courtesy makes you uncomfortable, anyway, as --" he stopped with awkward suddenness.

"As?" Snape prodded. 

"Because your family were rough," Draco replied at a quick mutter. "But anyway--" he began, more loudly. 

"Most likely true when we were _in school_ together," Snape replied, his voice rising over Draco's. "But I like to think I have acquired more polish in the last two _decades_!" 

"Sorry," Draco said.

While Harry was wondering how "rough" Snape's family had been, Snape stepped toward them. He looked down at Draco. 

"Lest there be any confusion, I do not find your episodes of churlishness endearing." 

"I..." Draco looked almost meek. He crossed his legs carefully at the knee. "I had not intended to be rude, sir. I was concerned."

"And taking it out on both of us," Harry contributed. 

Draco hesitated. "She is _my_ mother," he said carefully. "I understand why talking to me might wait until later, but why consult a professor? Other than your Head of House, that is?"

Harry pulled out the letter, tapping it against his hand. "Because she _said_ to."

"I.... Oh." 

With a sharp look at him, Snape nodded. "That advice is why I was forewarned -- barely -- of the matter. Still, I would like to see the full message." He held out a hand to Harry. "If you would not mind...." 

Harry passed Snape the letter, expecting that he would read it. Instead, Snape took it to his writing desk, laid it over a blank piece of parchment, and tapped it with his wand. 

"Here," he said, lifting it up from what appeared to be a fuzzy copy and handing the original back to Harry. "Draco may look on with you, and I will make any necessary notes on the duplicate."

"Notes? It's just a letter." 

 

To Harry's amazement, the Slytherins did, indeed, take notes. Snape pointed out to Harry that 'cordially', while generally indicating good will, was a mimicry of the official invitation, and therefore non-committal. Draco observed that acknowledging that Harry's ancestors had previously attended Malfoy events was somewhat of a concession, while the oblique mention of Harry's maternal line a reminder of his blood status, and as such, a tacit insult. Snape wondered if it was significant the Narcissa not mentioned her own line, the House of Black. 

On and on it went, until the final 'sincerely' ("emphasizing honesty, but without warmth, and bypassing any question of his status in her eyes"). At the end of it, Harry looked over the notes and decided they had enhanced his understanding of the invitation not one whit. 

"So, she's interested in meeting me, but carefully not expressing an opinion of me, and she says she's safe -- which might be true, in context -- but that her guests aren't. We'd already _got_ all of that. The question is still -- do I go? Draco, do you _want_ me to go?"

Draco was studying the notes as if they might actually help. 

"I would very much like you to visit my home," he said. 

Snape sneered. "Your personal feelings hardly justify the risk." 

With a glance at him, Draco nodded. "Agreed. But there is the political benefit to consider."

"What do I care?" Harry huffed. "So she gets to look tolerant, or something, having a guest who had, ooo...." -- he waggled his fingers in the air-- "Muggle grandparents?" 

"The benefit to _you_ , Harry," Draco said. "This supports our goal for the year, does it not? To be seen as a preferable alternative to the Dark Lord, you must first be _seen_." 

"Oh." 

"This could, potentially, reinforce whatever inroads you have made at school. Parents whose children have spoken favorably of you will get a chance to see you for themselves."

"So I'll be on exhibit." 

Draco shrugged. "Inevitable, unfortunately." 

"And you must be on good behavior," Snape warned. 

"I'll be a guest," Harry objected. "I would be anyway." With a heavy sigh, he sat back and looked between them. "You think I can survive this." 

Snape steepled his hands, staring down at them. The first two fingers on his left hand were stained a bluish purple that contrasted with yellow on the tips of the right. Harry wondered what he had been brewing. 

"I believe the risk, while significant, could be managed. I will be there, as you may recall...." He shot a look at Draco. "And yes, I will allow you privacy in certain well-secured rooms. Harry, I have heard you are doing well at Apparation?" 

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. My group gets tested at the end of the day, tomorrow. So far, though, we haven't gone further than across a field." 

"That will be remedied before the test, necessarily."

"I have a portkey I can carry as well," Harry offered. 

"Excellent. As long as no one finds out in advance that you will be there, your skills and mine, combined with two ways to make a quick retreat, should be sufficient to keep you from harm."

 

When he and Draco left, they went to see the Quiris. Harry couldn't quite approach them, but they didn't mind his presence, at a distance. He watched wistfully while Draco ran his fingers up the tufts of Tuktuk's ears. 

"They're soft, aren't they?"

Draco smiled sympathetically. "Yes. And that you can even be thinking that means you must be close." 

"It's difficult. I want to touch her, but I know it's not safe." 

"I remember." Draco stroked a hand along Cheefi's head, because she was butting him. "You could before I could, last year, remember?" 

"Oh. Yeah." 

"So I know how it feels." That slightly too gentle smile turned towards Harry again. "You're close. Before we go to Malfoy Manor, I think." 

"Who's going to take care of them while you're gone?" 

"They would be all right alone, you know. They can open the spigot, and the House Elves will bring them food and remove waste. I was thinking of asking the headmaster to look in on them, though -- just so they don't get lonely." 

Harry considered that. "If I'm fine with them then, I could be here." 

"Exactly," Draco drawled. "It will look quite natural. And if you're not, perhaps I won't ask him." 

"Got it." 

"Will you confront him then?" 

"Maybe." Harry considered it. "Or maybe when we get back. He's always friendliest around Christmas."

 


	38. An Expedition

 

Thirty hours later, Harry had an Apparation license, presented by an embarrassingly fawning Ministry official. He had one essay due on Wednesday, but nothing else to prepare. The NEWT-level students had no lessons this week at all, just exams on Tuesday or Wednesday, as set by each professor. 

On Monday, Harry was leaving breakfast with Ron -- Hermione had gone to the library earlier -- when Professor Snape stopped him in the Entrance Hall. 

"A moment of your time, Mr. Potter." 

Ignoring Ron's glower, Harry turned. Brown leather straps cut down from the shoulders of Snape's normally smooth black wool coat, pulling it into little tucks, and through the strands of his hair, Harry could see the top of a wicker basket behind them. He had to struggle to maintain a straight face. "Yes, sir?"

"I was wondering if you might help me with some harvesting this morning." His expression darkened. "If, that is, you are as current on your schoolwork as you claim." 

"Harvesting?"

"Skyberries. In the Forbidden Forest. It would be something useful you can do with that skill on a broom, rather than wasting it all on foolish sport."

Harry grinned. "I doubt you'd think it a waste if I was a Slytherin, sir." 

Snape sniffed, but he sounded almost amused. "It still siphons too much time from useful pursuits. However, I admit that victories, whether useful or not, have their own merit." He stood back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, Potter? Will you assist or not?"

Harry was eager to agree. That Snape had asked him rather than Draco probably meant he had news to impart in private. Unless Harry was missing something about Slytherin offers. Harry looked at the challenge in Snape's pose and thought of Gentian. Was he supposed to ask for something in return?

"You don't have to go, mate," Ron said, more loudly than necessary, tugging at his arm. 

Planting his feet, Harry looked at Snape. "He's right. This isn't a lesson, and I have other things to do. What do _I_ get out of this?"

He knew he had made the right decision when Snape's mouth twitched. It settled as he looked at his stained nails. "Time outside and away from the compulsively revising Head Girl would be enough incentive, I would think," he said blandly. "However, it could be a lesson. Shall we say it will replace the mark for your most abysmal brewing attempt this term?"

"Great!" Harry answered. "Shall I get my Firebolt?" 

Snape snorted. "Your negotiating is as clumsy as your brewing, Potter. No, a school broom will suffice. I need frost-cleared Skyberries, but they won't be actively evading you." He looked Harry up and down. "You have your cloak already, for some reason...." 

"I visited Hagrid this morning." 

"I see. Gloves?"

Harry pulled them from his pocket, and Snape nodded approvingly. "Very well. It is best to go before the day warms." He gestured to the door. 

"I'll tell Hermione where you went," Ron said. 

Snape shot him a hard look. "I will save you some trouble, Mr. Weasley, and tell you that Professor Dumbledore already knows -- as is standard procedure when any staff member takes any student into the Forbidden Forest." Snape gave a rote sneer and pivoted towards the door, the large wicker basket bouncing ridiculously against his back. "Come along, Mr. Potter." 

After the door closed behind them, Snape shook his hair back, shoulders settling, and set off at a brisk walk. Harry had to jog to catch up. 

"So, what's it really?" he challenged. 

"I believe I explained our task." 

"Which you could do yourself, I expect." 

"Two matters, Mr. Potter. First, while the Forbidden Forest is not entirely forbidden to staff, only Hagrid and the headmaster enter it alone. Second, why should I hover at such heights when I have students who enjoy it at my disposal?" 

Harry grinned. "Draco would enjoy it too," he pointed out.

"True. However, I would not want to take time away from his revision." 

"But you will mine?"

Snape shot him an amiably contemptuous glance. "You are not a Slytherin, so I have no reason to care. Furthermore, you are a Gryffindor, so I doubt I am distracting from anything but creative procrastination." 

"Oh, even Ron will settle in before dinner, I expect." 

After a minute or two of silence -- and that much further towards the Forbidden Forest -- Snape continued, as if there had been no pause. "But this does provide us the opportunity to speak -- outside of the castle, and away from those who might listen." 

Harry, similarly, let three dozen paces and a minute's silence go by before he answered. 

"Did you have a subject in mind, sir?" 

"Your Christmas plans, but that can wait. Let's get you a broom first."

They were nearly to the Quidditch pitch. Harry went in to the broom shed and picked the least flawed school broom, while Snape made snide remarks about his fussiness, and Harry channeled his boyfriend to decry Snape's lack of discernment. It amused them both, and by the time they set out again, the sun was slightly higher and slightly warmer against the chill of the air. 

The tree line, of course, blocked any counter to the season's cold, and ice on the fallen leaves crunched beneath their feet. They were only a few paces in when Snape picked up the conversation. 

"I have given some thought," he said over his shoulder, as he moved swiftly down a narrow path, "to guarding your safety during the event."

"And?" Harry prompted, stretching his stride over a prominent root. 

"I would like to establish a temporary bond that allows me to locate you if you are in distress."

"You think you'll lose track of me?" Harry teased.

Snape paused long enough to glare. 

"My loyalties are now public knowledge. Anyone who wishes you harm will first try to distract me, and next to distract Draco."

"Not Draco first?"

"I am _quite_ confident that I am considered the greater threat." 

"I suppose." 

"I also suggest that you take something that enhances your senses."

Harry stopped in his tracks. They had spent an entire week's worth of lessons preparing such things -- and being lectured on their dangers.

"But I thought--"

"Not for the entire visit, of course," Snape said, continuing to walk. Harry was forced to resume moving to not be left out of hearing. "That would be foolish in the extreme. Just for the ball. I am considering the Alertness Elixir, which is approved for short-term Auror use. Primarily, it increases focus, although hearing is also slightly enhanced." 

Harry was dubious. "I have to make a good impression, though. I mean, that's the point." 

"I doubt the elixir will prevent that in a moderate dosage." Snape hesitated. "I believe you are on good terms with a young Auror -- a girl with pink hair?"

"Tonks," Harry supplied. "She's Draco's cousin."

"Yes. You might ask her about the Alertness Elixir; I expect she has used it in the course of her work." 

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "I'll ask. But anyway, finding me if I'm threatened sounds good. Just don't barge in if I'm fighting with Draco, or something."

Snape slowed. The path had widened, letting Harry move up beside him. He wondered if it was a centaur path. Snape's voice was neutral. "He has been rather difficult lately."

Uncomfortable with the subject, Harry shrugged. He wasn't going to agree, but he couldn't say it wasn't true. 

"I believe much of it is holiday stress. Many students get this way when it is time to go home for Christmas. You are friends with Miss Bulstrode, I believe?" 

As nonchalantly as he could manage, Harry nodded. "She's okay." 

"At another time, I might agree with you. But I have had as many complaints about her in the last ten days as in the previous ten weeks. She broke this; she argued about that; she terrified some passing Hufflepuff children...." Snape stopped at the base of a great oak, and tilted his head back. "This one, perhaps." 

Harry looked up. He could see green balls of mistletoe in amongst the sparse brown leaves still clinging to the wide branches. 

"Mistletoe?" he asked. "I didn't think it grew this far north." 

Snape sighed. "Do you remember _anything_ about Skyberries, Potter?" 

"I don't think I've ever heard of them." 

"Then you skipped a reading in fourth year. I should go back and make sure you didn't get credit for it." 

Harry looked at him suspiciously. He didn't believe professors could change marks three years later, but Snape didn't look like he was joking. Of course, with Snape, it was sometimes hard to tell. 

"Did we ever use them?" he asked. 

"No. They are rare -- this forest is one of the few places where one can readily find them -- they can only be harvested in this season, and they are used for only a few potions ... one of which is the binding potion we will use for Narcissa's ball."

"Oh. Well, even if I did the reading, I probably wouldn't remember, then."

"You would not remember a substance just because you have not personally handled it?" 

"Basically, yeah. I mean, not one I hadn't read about multiple times." Harry shrugged. "So tell me about Skyberries."

Snape sighed. "As the mistletoe is parasitic on oak, apple, and other trees of malleable bark, the Skyberry vine is symbiotic with -- visibly parasitic on, but also nourishing to -- mistletoe, but only on the tallest of trees. It grows out of the root juncture of the mistletoe in autumn, and rapidly rises through the host, in thin, translucent vines. When it reaches the top of the tree, the Skyberry vine bears clusters of blue berries that clarify with exposure to frost. As the days grow longer, it will die back, returning magical energy -- more than the physical sustenance it took -- to its host. And yes, in most of Scotland, mistletoe is not present. In the Forbidden Forest, however, it is fairly common. No one knows why, although theories include the influences of Bowtruckles, Centaurs, and past Potions professors." Snape smirked. 

"So, will all of these have Skyberry vines?" 

"No. I suggest you check each for rising vines from each cluster to see if it is worth going higher. Vine and berries are virtually invisible from the ground. It is only from above the tree that they can be easily spotted."

"Right then." Harry swung his broom off his shoulder. "Any particular harvesting instructions?"

From the wicker basket, Snape pulled a soft cloth bag with handles, and a small knife. "Hang this from your broom handle, and keep it in place and open with a Sticking Charm. Hold the stem below the berries -- you do not want to touch them -- cut through it below your grip, then drop the berries gently into the bag." As Harry was done affixing the bag, he handed him the knife. "Half full will be adequate. More than that and the berries at the bottom will be too crushed to use." 

"Fly gently, then?" 

"Five points to Gryffindor -- _if_ you manage it." 

If he had been on his Firebolt, Harry would have shot up through the branches to set a contrast, but he wasn't sure the school broom had the control for zigzagging through them. He meandered up slowly instead, to the first green globe of mistletoe, looking for rising vines. On the third, he found four of them, looking like long twists of bean thread where they snaked up through the branches of the oak, which were getting too close together for Harry to fly. He dropped down and went outside the crown of the tree, twisting from one gap to another in the forest canopy, getting scratched by bare twigs, and all the while trying to track where he had been below. 

In the clear air above, the sun was bright and the breeze frigid. Looking down, he saw what appeared to be pools of blue water, impossibly stretched from twig to twig. Certain these were the skyberries, Harry dropped down to hover above one. 

He wished he had asked why he was not to touch them, because the urge was almost irresistible. Each pool was a wide, dense cluster of berries, and each berry was a perfect, tiny globe of the same blue as the sky above him. He could see inside each berry to the golden dot of a single seed. If he knew that touching one would just magically contaminate it, he could pluck one and then thrown it away. However, it could be that it would burn him, or poison him, or leave him subject to some kind of magical attack. Reluctantly, he harvested them as Snape had instructed. 

There were plenty, and it took him little time to reach the half-way point on the cloth bag. Harry rose a little higher, and seeing a clear spot between the trees not far away, soared evenly over to it, and descended below the thick branches to fly easily back. 

He slowed to a hover before Snape. 

"I think I've earned those five points, sir." 

"I will decide that once I check the berries," Snape responded haughtily. 

"They'll be fine," Harry said, letting his feet settle on the ground. "So what's the basket for?" 

"Less fragile substances," Snape answered, unsticking the bag from his broom, and then handing it back to him. "Perhaps mistletoe, if you are willing? Centaur or Unicorn tail hair, if we see any caught on the underbrush." 

 

Harry harvested some mistletoe, and they meandered back, putting this and that in Snape's wicker basket, and Harry managed not to say how ridiculous it looked against the somber black wool of Snape's coat. In sight of the Hogwarts grounds, Snape cleared his throat. 

"Millicent Bulstrode." 

In a way, it was a non-sequitur, but Harry, also, was feeling the border of the forest as a return to normal life, and everything in it. "What about her?"

"I had mentioned how difficult she has been. How does she feel about going home?" 

"Er, she hasn't said much about it."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "But you must have some idea."

Harry bit his lip. "She's expected to be ladylike, I think. She's said her mum disapproves of Quidditch."

Snape snorted. "Yes, I discovered that."

"Oh?" Harry prompted. They crossed into the sunlight. 

"I expect you recall how she came in from the reserves last spring to substitute for Goyle -- just as tough, nearly as tall, and a good deal cannier. I sent her parents a note of congratulations on their daughter's fine first match -- only to get a Howler in reply. Miss Bulstrode, in the _two years_ she was on the reserves, had apparently not informed her mother that she played Quidditch at school." 

Harry laughed. "Sneaky like a Slytherin," he said. It was good to know she had practice in keeping secrets from her family.

"Quite," Snape said, momentarily haughtily. "Though when I ran into Mr. Bulstrode, while shopping during the summer, he was apologetically friendly -- without actually apologizing, of course. I suspect he was not as displeased as his wife." 

"But he won't stand up for her?" 

"He leaves the girl's upbringing to the woman of the house, he said."

Harry made a face. "It's a crap bargain for her, I think. She's still playing, though." 

"She's of age now." 

"Oh, I see." 

At a flicker of motion, Harry looked over. The sun on Greenhouse Four made a mirror, reflecting a wavering Professor Snape, tall, thin, and dressed all in black, but with a ridiculous wicker pack held to his back with brown leather straps. Beside him, the mirror Harry Potter looked distressingly short, but the red and gold in his hat, and the red lining of the hood hanging behind him, added color to the black of his cloak. At every other step, a leg of his worn navy jogging bottoms -- weekend wear for what he had expected to be a day of lounging around Gryffindor staring at textbooks -- flashed briefly into sight. 

"Admiring yourself, Potter?"

"Wishing I didn't look like a fifth-year, actually." 

Stopping, Snape studied their reflections for a moment. "Nonsense," he said. "Granted, you might want to find some shorter associates...."

Harry grinned. "At least one person said that's why I was being nice to the first years. 'Trying to look tall, Harry?'" 

"Yes, because you avoid Draco Malfoy so assiduously." 

Harry laughed, and was about to reply, but a movement ahead caught his eye. On the path from the castle, just where it rounded the pitch, was Remus Lupin, frozen in mid-step and staring straight at them. 

"Oh."

"The werewolf."

Harry didn't argue. Remus had resumed his approach with a stumble, and Harry recalled seeing a full moon heavy on the eastern horizon on Saturday evening. He hurried forward, hoping nothing terrible had happened. 

"Remus!" 

From a conversational distance, the bright red spots the cold had brought to Lupin's nose and cheeks contrasted with an underlying pallor of sickness. However, he managed a smile. 

"Harry. Professor Dumbledore told me you were returning from the forest." His eyes flicked to Snape, who was coming up behind Harry. "I had not realized your company." 

"Mr. Potter was assisting me in gathering raw materials," Snape said. "An educational expedition to potentially boost his Potions marks." 

"Of course." 

Harry looked between them. "How did Du- Professor Dumbledore know I was heading back?"

"Is that a problem?" Remus asked, frowning.

"I like to know when I'm being watched. I mean, I _don't_ like being watched, but I'd rather know than find out later." 

"Outside of home, I always assume I am being watched," Remus said placidly. "I find it saves trouble and indignation later." 

"It is irrelevant," Snape said. "The headmaster has a device that shows people entering and leaving the forest along this path, but it must be actively monitored -- thus the warning to him to do so. I would have told you were it more intrusive." He sent Harry a sly look. "No one need know that you mistook the bloom of Unicorn dung for a Fairy garden."

"It's mid December! How many things cause flowers now?" 

The question was a mistake. Snape actually thought about it. "Four. Name the other two." 

"Oh hell. When am I going to learn to keep my mouth shut?"

"Never, I expect." Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, Harry. Two causes of winter blooms." 

"Um...." Harry thought back through previous Potions classes. Remus was looking very urgently at him, as if he knew Harry had an answer. _But how would he know the Potions assignments -- oh!_

"A hibernating fire Salamander." 

Snape snorted. "Congratulation, Potter. You managed to think of an answer so obscure that I didn't bother to include it. Two more _likely_ causes, if you please?

Now that he had got out of thinking of Potions classes the answers weren't so hard. He needed Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. 

"Fire-root fungus, or the bloom of a centaur's grave."

Remus smiled. "Which lasts how long?" he prompted. 

Harry pulled a face. "Twenty-one hours, professor," he said, overly sweetly, "or forty-nine for a chief." 

Remus looked at Snape. "Points to Gryffindor, perhaps?"

"For helping him to study for his NEWTs? Unwarranted."

"Is there a reason why you're here?" Harry asked Remus. "I mean, not that it's not nice to see you, but term doesn't end until tomorrow. Is something wrong?"

"Right." Remus sighed. "As it happens, Professor Dumbledore was talking to a mutual friend this morning, and mentioned that you plan to visit Malfoy Manor. The only way to keep him from rushing off here to stop you himself was to volunteer to do it for him." 

Harry scowled. "You see? This is why I don't like Dumbledore knowing things. He spreads my business around when he shouldn't." 

"Sirius is your godfather, Harry," Remus chided. 

"Right, but I'm an adult!"

"That doesn't mean that no one else is affected by your actions." 

Snape drew himself up. "It does, however, mean that outside of school, he is subject to no one else's whims. We discussed this with Professor Dumbledore, _obviously_ , and we have devised protections, and Harry has, of his own accord, decided that the value of this action is worth the remaining risk."

Remus set his head down. "I don't see any value, and I haven't heard about any protections." 

"I will be there," Snape said haughtily. "To guard both Harry and Draco." 

Remus rolled his eyes. "I'm glad to hear it, but that will hardly reassure--" belatedly, he caught himself -- "my friend." 

Snape sneered, either at the mention of Sirius or the tardy return to avoiding his name. "Tell him that it will be someone from the order." 

"The what?" Harry asked, but Snape motioned him to silence. Frowning, Harry decided to accept that now, and then press both of them for answers later. 

"Severus," Remus warned. 

"A technicality," Severus spat. "Surely you are not saying the boy cannot be trusted?" 

"I'm saying that he-- Never mind. This is not the time or place. Yes, I could tell him that. But how will you guard them both, Severus? They cannot stay together all evening; I am sure the Malfoy heir has social obligations." Remus stepped forward. "And if torn between your spellson and Harry, whom would you choose?" 

"The one more likely to be harmed, of course," Severus replied coldly. "Don't you think I've considered the possibility of an attack for distraction? Harry has done quite well in Apparation, and --"

"And might not have the chance, or the will, to flee." Remus turned Harry "Could you leave if you saw someone attacking Draco?"

Harry hadn't thought about it that way. When people were talking about distractions, he had imagined something happening out of his sight. If Draco was in danger, and staying would distract Snape, leaving might be the best thing to do, but what if it wasn't? He didn't think he could. By now, Snape was frowning at him. Harry looked away without speaking. 

"Have you any constructive suggestions, Lupin?

"Explain to me first," Remus said firmly. " _Why_ is he doing this?" 

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Snape said. 

Annoyed, Harry looked back. "It's me or Voldemort," he said bluntly. "People know that, even if they have no idea why. I need the purebloods to know I am reasonably sane, capable, and not hostile to 'civilized society,' as Draco says."

"Sirius knows Narcissa," Remus said grimly. 

"He _knew_ Narcissa," Snape corrected. "I doubt he's seen her since leaving his family." 

"And she's changed?" Remus challenged.

"Through twenty-some years, marriage, the raising of a child, the loss of her husband to obsession and imprisonment? Who would not? Just because Black is stuck in 1981 doesn't mean the rest of us are." 

After a long sigh, Remus nodded. "True. Though he is starting to recover emotionally. If he could be cleared--" 

"I am not interested in Black's little problems," Snape sneered. "Have you any suggestions to make the visit safer?" 

Remus turned to Harry. "The safest thing would be for you not to go." 

"I'm going." 

"He's not worth it, Harry." 

Harry bristled. "I am going, and I'm glad of the opportunity. And you can't say what is worth it to me." 

He expected a fight, but Remus merely nodded. "Very well." He returned his attention to Snape. "Tonks. Can you get her in as a guest? Then, if there is an issue, you can take the bait while she protects Harry. If I tell Sirius two of us are there, and don't say that you're one of them, I may be able to keep him home."

"I strongly suggest you do. The Manor grounds detect wizards entering in animagus form." 

Remus stepped back. "Unusual," he said coldly. "Would this have anything to do with your association with Mrs. Malfoy?" 

"Narcissa asked my advice on protections against her husband's associates -- indeed, I insisted on it if Draco was ever to visit again. I would have been remiss not to warn her that there was an animagus among the Death Eaters."

Slowly, Remus's clenched fist eased open. "I had not considered that."

Snape leaned forward. "Understand, Lupin, that she has burned most of her bridges. She still has her social standing as a pureblood lady -- including with Death Eaters' wives -- but the Dark Lord is doing her a favor in ignoring her ... and she is willing to risk that fragile cover for closer ties that may help her survive his fall. _This_ is why Harry must go."

After a moment, Remus stepped back, his mouth twisting in a grimace. "I will take that into consideration. Harry, might I accompany you back to the castle?" 

Harry shrugged. "Sure. I have to bring these berries down the dungeons, though."

Snape snorted. "I am perfectly capable of carrying a bag of berries, Potter. You need not bear the load beyond the Entrance Hall."

"All right." Harry looked at Remus. "You'll have to be a lot more discreet."

"Understood," Remus said, falling into step beside him, and ignoring Snape on Harry's other side. His tone lightened. "I'm not expected back for an hour, though, and I should probably avoid other students."

"That will be difficult inside." Harry had been looking forward to the warmth of the castle. "Should we go to Hagrid's?"

"Hm." Remus looked over at the smoke rising from behind the swell of land that hid Hagrid's hut. "Do you think we could visit the Quiris? I understand Mr. Malfoy has the keeping of them, and I would love to see them again." 

Harry tried not to stiffen. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Not today." 

"No?"

"It's too close to the full moon," Harry answered, suddenly confident. "You'll distress them. Why don't you come back during the holiday? You can see me safe back from the Malfoys' and I'll introduce you to Cheefi and Tuktuk."

Remus smiled warmly. "That sounds lovely, Harry. I can bring your Christmas presents as well."

"Of course," Snape sneered. "You can afford multiple presents for the boy, but not Wolfsbane potion." 

"Only one present is from me, and I will _not_ discuss its cost. Do not assume I am being irresponsible."

"But history supports that assumption so nicely." 

Harry stopped. The two men lurched to a stop and turned back -- and, strangely, toward each other. Harry thrust the bag of berries at Snape. "Here," he said. "Remus and I are going to see Hagrid." 

After a moment, Snape nodded. The tight line of his lips relented to speak. "I expect you for the review of this lesson promptly at 3, as we discussed."

"Of course, sir." 

"I trust you can take care of yourself," Snape said coolly, and he pivoted sharply and strode off, leaving Harry hoping the Skyberries had survived the exchange unbruised. A hand settled gently on his shoulder. 

"He's always like that, you know," Remus said. "There's no point in being offended."

"I know." Harry glanced down at his empty hands. "Just -- we were being so gentle with that bag."

"Oh, I see! Was it important?"

"Not critical. Just for something that will let him find me at the Malfoy Ball."

Remus frowned. "Ironroot?" 

That sounded vaguely familiar. Harry shook his head. "Skyberries." 

"Ah!" Remus brightened. "A good choice, if I remember correctly. Most magical bonds leave a residual effect. Skyberry ensures ephemerality. They're quite rare, though." 

"Oh, we found lots!" Behind the exclamation, Harry was already deciding to get the names and formulas of the potions Snape had chosen and look them up before taking them. He might get along with the Potions master now, but he certainly didn't want any sort of lasting bond with the man. 

Remus rolled his eyes. "In December, in this one corner of the world, in the shadow of Hogwarts castle, with magic spilling back and forth from the denizens to the land ... yes, I've no doubt you did. And I can take you to a place in the Andes where an hour's searching will find you shed Peruvian Vipertooth fangs. They are _quite_ rare." 

"Okay." Harry shrugged. 

Remus cleared his throat. "I-- He is protecting you well, after all, it seems." 

"Of course. He needs me to win."

"Now, Harry," Remus chided. "I don't like him -- and I'm not convinced that you should trust him -- but there's no need to be offensive." 

Harry looked over in surprise. "I'm not. He wouldn't think so! He's a Slytherin; he's working at getting what he wants. That happens to be Voldemort dead, so we're good." 

"I see." Remus sounded disappointed. Harry sighed. 

"Look. You can't think that way and work with Slytherins." 

"You are keeping in mind that he does not like you?"

"He does like me, I think," Harry said. "I'm keeping in mind that that isn't why he helps me." 

Remus couldn't seem to stop himself from frowning, but after a moment, he shook his head and his expression cleared. "Very well. I admit that I preferred when you had no idea how to deal with Slytherins, but I will try not to let it worry me. Let's go see Hagrid, shall we?" 

 

When Harry finally got to Snape's office, the professor was scribbling notes in a small book. He looked up, nodding approvingly when Harry closed the door. 

"How were the berries, sir?" 

"Surprisingly undamaged." 

"I had thought you were handling them rather roughly, when you left." 

"Unintentional, I assure you." Snape looked like he might actually mean it. "About your arrangements with Lupin...." he began. Harry raised his eyebrows, and Snape's mouth twitched at one corner. "Well done."

"Thanks." 

"Seven points to Gryffindor," Snape's voice dropped, "for delicate handling of a volatile material." 

 


	39. Malfoy Manor

Malfoy Manor

 

Harry's last letter from Auror Tonks had come, not from the MLE, but from Chameleon's Rock, Essex, and that was the address he used when writing to her. On Wednesday afternoon, after a grueling Cursebreaking exam, he settled in a comfy chair near the Gryffindor fire to read her reply. 

_Dear Harry,_

_Snape is off his rocker. Yes, I have used Alertness Elixir for work. It is entirely the right thing for a long, monotonous stakeout, where you do nothing but listen for the next whisper of sound, or one particular voice. However, in a chaotic party environment, it would have you twitching like a rabbit, if not curled up under a table with your hands over your ears -- or worse yet, attacking someone for having an unpleasant laugh. I don't care how posh an affair this is; it's going to be loud, and hyping up your responses will not help._

_What I might want, in your situation -- if I was, or had access to, an accomplished, experienced potion maker with near-limitless supplies and no morals -- is Beast Hunter's Marker. This is legal in small quantities, and is used by collectors and adventurers to sense nearby magical creatures. However, if you make a concentration that would be fatal to consume, and immerse a wooden object in it, that object will warm when near large quantities of something harvested from a magical creature -- or small quantities that are magically charged -- for example, the core of a wand in its true master's or mistress's hand. It works pretty well for a few seconds' warning when someone is drawing on you, especially at a swanky gathering where most magic is being done by House Elves. Unfortunately, that concentration is only approved for border guards and Aurors on contraband duty, so you wouldn't be able to get it._

_Now, I've heard that one of Draco's French cousins -- a forgettable young man with curly hair -- will be--_

 

A surprised exclamation from Ron drew Harry's attention from the letter. Hermione, between them, had her fists clenched in her lap. 

"But I thought you were coming home with me." 

Harry could see her jaw tense. "As I was not _invited_ , Ron, no, I am not." 

Ron rolled his eyes. "Sorry. Hermione, will you come home for Christmas with me?" 

She got up so fast that her book fell to the floor. More shockingly, she backed away without picking it up. "NO!" 

Hands over her face, she stumbled in her hurry to flee, teetered, and caught herself by moving faster. The door to her room slammed behind her, leaving Ron agape. 

"What?" he said finally, looking at Harry. "That was an invitation, wasn't it?"

"A bit late, I think," Harry answered. 

"Well, she ought to have known she was welcome. Mum will go spare!"

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, joining them. 

"Hermione's going home for Christmas, as Ron never invited her to the Burrow." 

"I did invite her!" Ron protested. 

"Ron," Harry warned. 

"Just now." 

Ginny glared. "Like that counts!" 

"I invited her last year! Why should I have to do it again?"

Ginny lunged forward. For a moment, Harry thought she would hit her brother, but she thrust her hands outward at the last minute, one pressing deep into the sofa back to either side of his shoulders. 

"She has a family," she spat out to his scrunched shut eyes. "A mum and dad. Did you think they might make plans? Care whether their daughter was coming home, perhaps? She can't back out of that, you prat!"

 

Hermione was still not speaking to Ron when the Hogwart's Express left on Thursday. Ginny didn't seem to be either, which left Harry thinking that Christmas at the Burrow would be strained. With any luck, Hermione would cool down over the holiday, and maybe Mrs. Weasley -- or one of the older Weasley boys -- would talk some sense into Ron. 

Thursday night, Harry smuggled Draco through the Gryffindor Common Room and into his dorm. No one else his year had stayed. Draco marveled at the view again, and they discovered the window seat was a convenient height for a number of things. They made up for staying up all night by sleeping all morning, barely making it to lunch. After a cold, but exhilarating, hour of flying, they returned to Gryffindor so Draco could go over Harry's clothing choices for his visit and present him with an early Christmas present of dress robes that he considered suitable for the ball. Harry thought it a minor victory that of his choices, Draco left one entire outfit intact. 

When they arrived at Professor Snape's rooms, Harry was wearing the shirt that Draco had turned green last spring, the wide-cut black trousers he had bought at the same time, and a sort of thigh-length tailored waistcoat of dark gold that Draco had brought and added. At Draco's insistence, he had instructed Susara to move to his arm, although not on the outside of the sleeve as Draco had suggested. He was also wearing a discreet beechwood ring, soaked in Beast Hunter's Marker. He felt odd, but Snape gave the ensemble an approving nod. 

"You look quite presentable. I would applaud your taste, but I suspect it was actually my spellson's."

"More or less," Harry agreed. 

"I only added the jerkin," Draco protested, drawing his wand. Harry was pleased to feel the ring warm, as it was supposed to. "And only because it's dinner. He has new formal robes for the ball itself -- he'd been going to wear the ones he wore at the trial, can you believe that?" 

Snape and Harry shared a look as Draco cast ash-repelling charms on Harry and himself. Snape's face was impassive, but Harry suspected that he used the same dress robes for everything that required them. 

"Do you have your portkey?" Snape asked. Harry felt for the bookmark from Remus that he knew was in his pocket. 

"Yes." 

"Where does it go? You never mentioned." 

"And I won't now." 

 

Harry managed to stumble only a little as he stepped out onto blindingly white marble. The walls were more marble -- white shot with grey and black -- to about waist height, and then wallpaper -- well, he corrected, stretched brocade cloth -- of silver and black above that. The effect was coldly palatial. Narcissa Malfoy, a delicate vision of porcelain and gold draped in floating blue chiffon, stepped forward. 

"Good evening, darling." She took Draco's hand between her own and offered her cheek for a kiss. "So lovely to see you." Straightening to her full height, she turned to Harry, and offered him her hand. "And Harry Potter -- may I call you Harry?" 

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy." As Draco had coached, he bent to pretend to kiss her hand, while he tried to alter his rehearsed greeting to fit the unexpected context. Words of gratitude for her kind invitation -- a rehashing of his acceptance, actually -- no longer seemed to fit. Her draped fingers felt unnervingly delicate in his calloused hand. "Almost everyone does, really," he answered frankly. Draco winced. 

"Lovely." Her teasing smile gave her a momentary resemblance to her unacknowledged niece. "As I understand matters, formality would be _quite_ artificial." She cast a glance at Snape, who was standing to one side like a raven, dark and alert -- and, Harry imagined, disapproving. "Please follow me. We can get acquainted while the kitchen puts the finishing touches on dinner." 

Harry briefly pictured an animate kitchen, with an oven door popping open, and a flying fork arranging parsley around the emerging roast, but he suspected it just wasn't polite to mention servants, or House Elves, or whoever it was who was cooking. 

They went up a half-flight of broad stairs, and down a long gallery with portraits to the left and arched windows to the right. Those seemingly gratuitous steps, Harry decided, might have been to enhance the view of the grounds and gardens, now grey and gold in the last glow of sunset. At the end of the gallery, they passed into an elegant room, much softer than the entrance hall, and flooded with light. The wood paneling was painted a soothing cream, with the carved leaf border of each panel faintly picked out in pale green and gold that echoed the more richly colored ivy of the cloth above. An intertwined pair of silver snakes marked each corner of the wall covering on the sides of the room. Ahead, sliding paneled doors were open enough for Harry to see an airy dining room with table set, awaiting food and diners. 

Draco was turning his head from side to side. "You've redecorated." 

Narcissa laughed slightly. "You know your father, darling -- more interested in intimidation than grace. I thought it was time to exercise my lighter touch." She gestured towards the windows. "Do sit down." Four chairs, with green on blue embroidered seats and backs, and lightly gilded curved wooden arms and legs, had been arranged for intimate conversation, a pair to either side of a small table. The rest of the room was empty space, although another set of chairs -- of similar design, but reversed in color balance -- were waiting against the wall, here and there, for use if needed. Harry moved to a chair by the window, and sat. 

Or he tried to. He felt the warning tingle of magic -- through his hand from the chair's arm -- an instant too late, when his weight was already back off his heels. The seat of the chair met his descent, and pushed him forward and down. He twisted enough to narrowly avoid the table, and set out his hand to protect Susara, who was tightening around his arm. His hand and hip, and then elbow, hit the inlayed wood of the floor hard, but he could feel his pet, alarmed but safe, tighten around his triceps. 

"Oh dear," Narcissa said, amusement clear in her voice, as Harry twisted to his feet. " _These_ must be the ones Lucius's great-great-uncle Torquil enchanted to accept only purebloods."

"Mother!" Draco snapped.

"Well, I _had_ wondered why such lovely pieces had been relegated to an attic. He must have embarrassed someone he didn't expect." Ignoring Harry's glare and her son's curled lip, she Summoned one of the blue-on-green chairs from the room's edge. "These should be safe for your sort," she said, smiling brightly into Harry's glare. 

There was no help from Draco, who tensed and looked at Harry pleadingly, clearly willing him to not complain. Snape looked coldly amused. Eyes flashing, Harry turned his back on Narcissa, and instead focused his anger on the chair that had upended him. Under his breath, he muttered a detection charm from October's work in Cursebreaking. He could see the curse, he was certain -- a muddy red that followed the grain of the wood. The upholstery and brass showed no taint of it. Ignoring the others (Narcissa was speaking lightly, and Draco quick and low), he stepped close in and stroked one wooden arm. Again, aggression rose up to his touch. The curse responded so readily that he thought he could easily draw it from chair's frame. Unfortunately, that was only half a solution. Though originally mild, the curse was old, and soaked deep the wood. If he just moved it to some other piece of wood and stopped there, it would spring back to its home. Whatever he transferred it to would need to be destroyed quickly. Pushing down the satisfying thought of using the table and a Blasting curse, he moved on to other options. Neutralizing the curse in place was probably impossible. However, he thought he could change the parameters of it, as Professor Hecksban had them doing before exams. 

Change it to what? His heartbeat slowed as he considered the matter. It would be easiest if there was also movement involved, and the trigger was the same. Harry stepped directly in front of the chair to stroke both arms. He didn't need to touch every bit of wood -- from here, his energy would flow downward, filling it all. The room fell silent as he leaned forward. When he could feel the entire frame of the chair beneath his touch, he seized the curse and twisted. 

He felt it work. Smirking, he turned, locked eyes with Narcissa Malfoy, and sat down. Beneath him, the chair settled a fraction of an inch, so his feet were exactly flat on the floor. 

Narcissa's hand flew to her mouth. After a moment, her hand dropped from a smile. 

"Oh, my! You have not been oversold, have you?"

"It's just a little curse," Harry said modestly.

"One that was cast over a hundred years ago! Those aren't easy to lift. And--" 

"Professor Hecksban worked in Egypt," Draco cut in, eager to move on. "He says it's still just a matter of finding where it's attached."

"I didn't _lift_ it." Harry curled his hands possessively over the smooth, gold-brushed curves of the chair arm. "Transferring it to something would have been easy -- I'm good with wood -- but I didn't have anything to destroy."

Narcissa turned her head coyly. "Yet you are sitting there." 

"Yes. But now it just adjusts to be comfortable for my height -- a subtle change for me." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Lovely. The perfect extra chair."

Harry grinned. "Only for 'my sort,' I'm afraid." 

"Well, that's rather useless."

"Don't complain. I could have left the action the same and reversed the trigger." 

Narcissa gasped, and then finally tittered behind an upraised hand, the sound artificially bright. "Could you really? You didn't think of it in time?"

"I thought it would be _rude_ ," Harry answered coldly. "Making your chairs unusable for you." 

"Oh, but show me on one," she coaxed, and he wasn't sure if she really wanted to see, or thought he couldn't. She stood up, and turned her chair clear of the table. "This one." 

Frowning, Harry looked over at Snape, who was sitting stiffly in the other window-side chair. The man rolled his eyes, and then shrugged slightly, so this probably wasn't some sort of trap. He still seemed to disapprove, perhaps of Harry giving away his aptitude for wandless magic. 

"Okay." Reluctantly leaving _his_ chair -- he did feel undeniably possessive of it now -- Harry approached hers and cautiously stroked the wood. It felt the same as the first one had; milder, if anything. Again, he moved close in, sinking down into the curse that flowed along the grain. He didn't understand the trigger, but he twisted the malice to face the other way, and felt it settle.

"I think that's it." He shrugged. "I don't get what it's actually looking for." 

"Hm," she said. "We shall see." To his surprise, rather than requesting Draco or Snape try it, she sat back down in the chair ... and was immediately tipped onto the ground, her lower legs, pale in smooth stockings, kicking free of underskirts tangled under a mound of blue chiffon. 

Laughing, cheeks pink, she came quickly to her feet, grasping the back of the spare chair she had summoned earlier to recover one shoe. "Oh! Change it back!" 

"Draco?" Harry asked. Narcissa's girlish humor had drained his indignation to mere annoyance, and the strain of wandless magic was belatedly making itself felt. "Want a go?" 

Draco huffed. "After dinner, perhaps. This is all very childish of you, Mother." 

"Oh, very well." Narcissa settled on the chair she had Summoned for Harry, and finally managed to hook the back strap of her shoe over her heel. "So, you must tell me about this class of yours -- Professor Hecksban is the Cursebreaking instructor, I gather?"

Harry returned to his chair, soothed by the welcoming shift of the seat as he sat. 

"Yes, exactly." Draco said smoothly. "His experience is primarily with stone, as he worked in Egypt for three years, but Harry and I have been doing some Shaping with Professor McGonagall, and Harry has an affinity for wood, as he said."

"And could you change the curse, as he did?" 

Harry thought the question too sharp, but Draco did not seem to mind. He rolled his eyes. "As I haven't looked at it, I cannot say. Given a _wand_ , and a few minutes peace to study it, almost certainly."

"His marks are better than mine," Harry said protectively.

Draco nodded. "I could almost certainly explain what I had done far more clearly and completely. You, however, are rather better than anyone -- the professor not excepted -- at _doing_ it." He raised an eyebrow at Harry. "She isn't my father, darling. I am expected to make the most of my considerable talents, not to prove that no one else has any."

"Oh. Well, good." Harry realized he was petting the chair arm again, and forced his fingers to cease their quick strokes. "So, it's a brilliant class. The first two months were mostly curse detection and blocking. We did simple transfer and destruction in November, and have just started what's called 'effect mitigation,' which was what I was doing there." 

"And the reversal?" Narcissa asked, acknowledging the appearance of a House Elf with a slight wave of one hand. Through the doors, Harry saw a silver soup tureen pop into place on the cream tablecloth of the dining table. "That seems rather ... dubious ... for Hogwarts under Albus Dumbledore." 

"Well, yes," Harry agreed, rising to his feet a moment after her. "Professor Hecksban says it's too much about how to cast curses to teach us more outside of an apprenticeship, where there's -- you know, lots of time together."

Snape sniffed. "Constant supervision, you mean." 

"That too."

"What Harry is not saying," Draco drawled, as they crossed into the dining room, "is that we practiced that technique only with a marker hex."

"Ah," Narcissa responded, and the look she gave Harry over the table was more suited to a prize Granian than to a pest, or even a puzzle. 

At the point of pulling his chair out, Harry stopped. What would this one do?

"You don't mind snakes, I hope?" 

Narcissa was probably referring to the motif of the heavy silver utensils by his plate, or perhaps the arms of the chair, on which he now noticed carved serpents twined about, ending head to head near where his hands would rest. 

Draco laughed. 

"No," Harry said. "But I'm not certain of your chairs. _Susara!"_

_"Yes, Master?"_

_"To my neck, please."_

When she had slid into place, Harry looked back to Narcissa's wide eyes. "You'll have to deal with my presumption," he said bluntly. "I won't have her endangered by another fall." With that, he sat.

The chair was mundanely quiescent. Susara's contentment came across his mind as a pleasant sigh. Narcissa, to his surprise, was actually biting her lip when he looked up. 

"I genuinely didn't mean any harm. I wasn't entirely sure what it was, but I can tell vicious from merely irritating." 

He shrugged. "I don't mind pranks, really," he said, ignoring the tension in Draco, across from him. "But a friend of mine nearly killed my torclinde recently, grabbing my arm. It's the first thing I thought of when I fell." 

Her cheeks dimpled. "Not afraid of snakes, then?"

"It's an impossible question," he answered, as a House Elf appeared and snapped her fingers. Soup appeared in each bowl. "It's like asking if I'm afraid of people. Nagini was terrifying, when I was tied up. Most snakes aren't." 

Shuddering, Narcissa shook her head. "You talk about _that_ serpent so casually."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not casual about dealing with her. It's happened though, and it will again. Hopefully without the tied up part." 

"Have you ever considered leaving?" she asked curiously. " _He_ has agents throughout Europe, I realize, but you might be safe in South Africa, or Hong Kong, or Canada, or any number of other places where a British man might comfortably reside."

Harry wondered if she meant that, or just wanted him to make things easier by leaving Draco. Or did she think he was too unsophisticated to realize there was more to the world? 

"No," he said. "I mean, I'd like to travel, but I won't just leave."

"Of course he won't," Snape put in slyly. "Gryffindors don't flee danger, no matter how horrible."

Harry laughed. "That's not true, you know! You should have seen me and Ron running from Acromantulas." 

Snape raised his eyebrows. " _Another_ venture into the Forbidden Forest, Potter? Tsk, tsk." 

"It was a long time ago," Harry answered defensively.

Snape shrugged the matter off. "And I expect there was no one to protect."

"True. Still, I left the village, last year, when I knew I couldn't actually help." 

"Ah." Snape dabbed his mouth with a spotless serviette. "And _that_ is the difference, isn't it? With the Dark Lord, you know you might -- at the right time and place."

That was interesting. Harry didn't believe for a second that Snape was bringing this up in front of Narcissa accidentally. 

"So I'm told," he answered steadily. Snape looked satisfied with that.

The soup was a pleasant light broth, with fan-shaped mushrooms and something onion-like. When they finished it, the bowls were replaced by small dishes of poached salmon, topped with a mix of chopped dill and slivers of marrow, and finished with a sprinkling of caviar. Harry, who was rather hungry, tried not to look put out at the small serving size. 

Narcissa gestured to the sideboard, where a bottle of wine was waiting in an ice bucket. "Draco, would you pour, please, darling?" 

Draco did not seem to find this demeaning. Harry realized he hadn't seen the House Elf actually touch the food dishes -- although it had presumably cooked the food -- and wondered if this was an etiquette thing. As Draco poured him a small glass of a light wine, he leaned close. "Fish course," he whispered, leaving Harry wondering if that was a promise of more food later.

The wine was dry and pleasant, and the salmon tasty. Although Harry tried to appreciate the caviar, he couldn't -- it seemed more like heavily salted fish oil than food. He swallowed it all, so no one would suspect his distaste, but he finished with the salmon. 

"I've noticed that you are championing my cousin," Narcissa said, after the soiled plates had vanished. "Are you in communication?"

_Cousin?_ Harry wondered. _Tonks would be a niece, and-- Oh_. "Sirius?" he asked.

She smiled. "So you are familiar with him."

"Not really," Harry lied. "We met the once, and then exchanged a couple of letters, but he said it wasn't safe for him to--"

With a bright laugh, she waved his words to a halt. "As if little Sirius would ever concede to safety."

Harry couldn't think of what to say. Draco came to his rescue. 

"I _do_ think twelve years in Azkaban might teach a man some care, however brazen a Gryffindor," he said. "Even Harry occasionally takes a precaution or two, now."

"Did you know him well?" Harry asked, hoping to redirect the subject. Narcissa sniffed. 

"I saw him several times a year," she said. "He was tolerable -- for a rough little boy -- until Hogwarts. Once he sorted Gryffindor, he seemed to consider it his duty to be beastly, rather than merely annoying." 

A year ago, Harry might have dismissed that, but he had since had multiple conversations about Draco to put Sirius's attitudes in clearer light. "He has warned me about Slytherins," he said neutrally. "I take it he didn't get along with his family?" 

Narcissa tilted her head for a moment, her eyes losing focus. 

"Even before..." She looked away, to the darkening window. "No, perhaps not. I was thinking of Andy -- my former sister -- but I think Sirius and Regulus were close as well."

"Regulus?"

"Oh, so you actually _don't_ know him well!" Narcissa took a sip of her wine. "His little brother. Shall we move on to the next course? Tippy does a marvelous quail."

Harry thought he might have nodded. _Another_ thing he didn't know about Sirius! The House Elf returned, and, at a snap of her fingers, a fresh plate appeared in front of Harry. Another snap, and something like a roast chicken in miniature appeared on it. The dark glaze on it glistened, and it smelled wonderful. The white mound to the side looked too wet and translucent for mashed potato. 

"Was Regulus in Slytherin?" Harry asked, as he maneuvered his knife into a position that he hoped would part the leg from the rest of the tiny bird without making a shredded mess. 

"Yes, of course," she said. 

"And ... um, Andy?" He wondered if Narcissa's sister had gone through a sex change. 

Narcissa's face tightened. "Andromeda. Yes, she was Slytherin. She left the family for a Muggle."

"Muggle- _born_ ," Draco corrected. He turned to Harry. "She's Tonks's mother."

"Draco!" Narcissa's fork clattered onto her plate. "You haven't!"

"Haven't what?" 

"Spoken to..." Narcissa seemed at loss for a word. "Those people!" 

"Be a bit hard not to speak to my security detail," Draco said, raising his chin. 

"That -- that Auror?" 

"You heard her name," Harry said coolly. 

She waved that away. "It could be a common Muggle name, for all I know." 

"Well, it's not." 

"You--" Narcissa glared. "Andromeda is not _family_ , Draco." 

Draco's face was hard, now, defiance in the set of his jaw. "I consider Tonks a cousin," he clipped out. "She's intelligent and fun, and we have agreed not to continue old feuds."

"My father would--" Narcissa stopped, her eyes nearly closing. 

"I barely remember your father." 

Harry wondered if he dared take another bite of the quail. It would be frighteningly obvious in the stillness. Professor Snape touched his goblet of water, but did not lift it. 

Narcissa turned her face away. "Have you met Andromeda?" She sounded lost. 

"No." 

"And the girl's sisters?"

"There aren't any." 

Narcissa looked back at that. "There," she said, her voice uneven. "She is no longer family." 

Draco actually smirked. "Unclear. She's a Metamorphmagus -- the daughter. Her mother says she's all three girls in one. Harry thinks the Muggle fields around her may have confused the gift."

"A Metamorphmagus? It's been over a hundred years since--" 

Draco leaned back. "Since there was one in the _family_?" he said pointedly. "So I've heard." 

Narcissa sighed. "Let's put the matter aside for the night. Do you know what Cursebreaking will cover next term?" 

The contrived change of subject was more forgivable for being overt. "The same things," Harry said.

"But with more difficult curses and more misdirection," Draco contributed. "Everything we've dealt with so far _can_ be identified, and _can_ be broken. He said that won't always be the case when we get back."

"Oh, I see! That raises the challenge considerably." Narcissa reached for the wine that had appeared with the quail. "Harry? Another glass?" 

Harry considered it for a second. The glasses had been quite small. His hand tightened on the arm of the chair. "No thank you."

"No?" She looked surprised, and then her lip curled slightly. "Something less complex?"

"Nothing," Harry said firmly. His hand tightened on the arm of the chair. "As you've made clear, your house isn't really safe for me." 

Her eyebrows rose delicately. "And a Muggle village was safer?"

Harry shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Ah yes. You were raised by Muggles."

Her tone was not quite contemptuous. Harry rolled his eyes. "Right. And it's a pain, sometimes, but it can also be a help." 

"Really! How so?"

Harry paused. Prudence demanded that he tell Narcissa Malfoy as little as possible of his strategies. However, the potential fun of her reactions was tempting. "Most of the people who want to kill me," he said carefully, "aren't comfortable in Muggle places." 

She considered that for a moment. "But you are," she said slowly, like a student in a lesson. 

"Yes. And there's such a _lot_ of the Muggle world. It's harder to search than the Wizarding one." 

"How interesting! I would have said easier, with no wards, but I can imagine what you mean. You become the needle in the haystack, detectable only by the glint of magic."

"I can get by without magic." 

She coughed slightly. "How -- brutal. Was that how you lived through the summer? As a Muggle?" She said it as if it were more salacious than disgusting, and Harry grinned.

"In part. A Muggle with glamours and Polyjuice and an invisibility cloak for when I crossed back into our world. I came into Diagon Alley a few times, and Knockturn Alley twice." 

"Knockturn? For what, darling -- cheap sex?" 

Harry glared at her. "I found Draco's letters sufficient." 

"Harry!" Draco yelped, but his mother merely chuckled. 

"I see. Yes, he's always been good with words. So?"

"For potions ingredients mostly. As you might imagine, I needed a place that would forgo the usual identification checks for certain items." He was rather proud of _forgo_. It was the sort of word Draco would use.

She nodded. "Yes, I can see where those might present a problem, when you were in hiding." 

"Exactly."

"And what of the identification of the ingredients?" Snape challenged. "Such laxity goes both ways, you know." 

Harry bit his lip. "Yeah. It did look a bit dodgy. Draco told me where to go, though." 

"Ah. Caligula's Cauldron?"

"Yes." 

"A reasonable choice. I do hope you do not trust their discretion for owl orders." 

"Of course not!" Harry answered. "Sir," he added, and Snape nodded. 

"Well, well. It seems you can learn." 

 

The rest of the evening went smoothly. Harry found Draco's mother more amusing than he had expected, although some of her humor showed calculation behind it. He doubted he would have liked her before learning to get along with Blaise. At other points, though, she seemed entirely moved by whimsy. When the House Elf finally brought dark chocolate mouse, he accepted a small glass of sweet wine with it, as it had been hours since the first. Dinner was apparently all there was to the evening; it was difficult not to yawn as Narcissa led the way to another wing, and then upstairs. Draco pointed out the door to his room as they passed, and Narcissa pointed out that she had set alarms against nocturnal visits. She could have been lying, Harry thought, as he climbed into the downy warmth of the waiting bed, but before he could plan an investigation, sleep had stolen the choice. 

 


	40. The Ball

 

As Draco had instructed for the morning, Harry was dressed in the most informal clothing he had brought. Not that that it was precisely normal, he thought, looking down at the pristine jacket, shirt and trousers. Upon consideration, he realized that it wasn't exactly unusual now, either; Draco had changed him in that way. He was looking at the door, wondering whether to venture out, when he heard a knock.

"Good morning." Draco sounded slightly amused, as he often did where other people might be cheerful. Harry sometimes wondered if his fifth-year self would hear it as mocking. "I can't open the door, I'm afraid -- Severus's doing -- and probably won't be able to enter when you do -- that would be Mother's." 

Harry opened the door. Draco looked strikingly handsome, and very unlike a student. He was dressed in tailored robes of cool light grey that ended above the ankle. Beneath it, Harry saw boot leather, not trouser legs, inviting the thought that Draco might be bare under the robe, as he sometimes was. He leaned out to check up and down the hall for Snape. 

"Severus has been by," Draco said, apparently following the thought. "He says he'll stay largely out of our way until other people start arriving, at least in this wing -- feels he's closed up all the secret doors, I gather." He stepped closer. 

"Good." 

Draco's kiss was fire. When Harry tried to back into his room, Draco couldn't follow. The next room didn't work for Harry, and neither of them was willing to disrobe in the hallway. Still, they made enough attempts to find space, hands stroking here and there, that they needed to stop at the top of the stairs to make themselves presentable again, and Harry was feeling smug as Draco lead him through the grandiose chambers of the ground floor. 

 

Breakfast was a far more informal affair than dinner, in an airy conservatory with potted orange and lemon trees, some in bloom and some in fruit. Before one of the tall windows, a flowering tree behind her, Narcissa sat at a small wrought iron table. Her empty dish and cutlery were pushed to one side, and she sipped from a tea cup as she studied a letter in her hand, and then put it on a small stack of others. Draco picked two oranges in passing, handing one to Harry as they reached the table. From there, Harry could just see Snape seated at the far end of the room, half obscured by dark leaves and bent over a thick book. 

"Good morning, Mother." 

"Good morning, darling." Narcissa's smile lasted through turning from Draco to Harry, and he murmured an awkward greeting. He was saved from having to make conversation by Draco, who gestured at her work as they sat. 

"Last minute replies?" 

She wrinkled her nose, but it seemed to be over the correspondence, rather than the House Elf who appeared and snapped scones onto their plates, and a mix of fruits into the crystal dishes beside them.

"Thanks," Harry said, causing the little creature to squeak in alarm. It vanished with Narcissa's empty plate.

Narcissa gave him an odd look before turning back to her son. "Only regrets, fortunately. The Hanleys, incidentally, sent their regrets quite promptly. However, the Clarkes conveyed that Linnet Hanley will be attending as their son's guest, so the intent of your request is fulfilled." 

"Great!" Harry exclaimed, much to his embarrassment. "That is-- I was afraid I wouldn't know anyone." He wondered if Draco had realized that and invited some of their mutual friends for his benefit. 

Narcissa's fine eyebrows arched. " _You_ know Gilbert Clarke and Linnet Hanley?" 

Harry frowned. "Yes." 

"They are in neither your house nor your year."

"Oh! Yeah. I mean, Draco only introduced us this year, really, but we get along. Gilbert has a little sister in Hufflepuff too -- Gloria -- so he's in the mixed-house space with her a couple of days a week." 

"I see." She studied him for a moment, and then, tapping the letters into a neat stack, put them aside. "So, tell me about this mixed-house experiment. Has it enhanced your education in any way?" 

Harry wanted to defer to Draco, but the question had clearly been addressed to him. 

"More in the social sense than in academics," he said. "But yes. I mean, learning about people. That's education too, right?" 

"Of the best and most subtle kind."

 "So we all get to see how other people think. You can ask Gilbert, but I think it's even better for the Slytherins, because their house is more the _same_ than mine, as far as I can tell. I mean, not as people," he added hastily, at her frown. "But they don't have many mixed bloods, and no Muggleborns, as far as I can tell, and the mixed-bloods hide it, so they don't know what we don't know." That was a complete jumble. He didn't think he was doing a good job of this. After breakfast, he might have been clearer. 

"Terribly educational," she said bitingly. "But what did you _learn_?"

He decided not to jump back into the hole he had been digging. "That ambition varies as much as courage," he said firmly, drawing on Uncommon Room lessons. "There are different ways to be ambitious, so there are different behaviors that come from it. Blaise tries to get good marks. Pansy cuts down potential rivals. Gilbert works on _knowing_ people -- Linnet does too; that's part of why they're friends, I think -- but in a different way."

"And you?" 

Harry paused for a moment. "Having allies is important," he said carefully. "I certainly can't fulfill my own ambition without that."

A coy smile softened her features. "I had _expected_ details of your _courage_." 

"Oh." He grinned "Plain, physical, defiant, 'do your worst,' I'm afraid. Just what people think of when they think Gryffindor. But Neville -- Neville Longbottom -- is the other end of the spectrum -- all quiet moral courage. He's stood by me when others didn't dare, and he's stood _up_ to me without anyone at his back."

"That takes some doing!" Draco exclaimed. "Still, he's mostly thought of as a misplaced Hufflepuff." 

Harry shrugged. "And he might have had an easier time there. But no one who knows him questions his nerve."

"Still, I suspect he argued with the Hat, as you did." 

Harry thought back. "Maybe. He took a while to sort, I think. And he would have wanted Gryffindor to please his grandmother. But it could just have been the Hat seeing deeper than we did at first."

 

The conversation continued, with Harry catching quick bites of breakfast when Draco was speaking. After they had finished eating, Narcissa recommended that Draco show Harry the grounds. "But not in view of the ballroom," she told him. "I have decorators coming for the more standard charms, and one of the musicians will be by to finalize arrangements in their area. It would be best if you kept Harry out of sight for the next two hours."

Draco hesitated. "But I willhelp with the favors."

"Yes, of _course_ , darling. I'll have Tippy fetch you when the coast is clear."

 

"I think she's enjoying this," Draco muttered, as he and Harry stepped out into the frigid air, wearing cloaks from a wardrobe by the garden door. 

"Testing me?" Harry still wasn't sure of Draco's mother. 

"What? No, the _intrigue_. That having you here is just a touch dangerous."

"How Gryffindor." 

Draco tilted his nose up. "No, no. It's the _scandal_. She wants it clear that she's _far_ too important to care." 

Harry laughed. "I like her more than I expected." 

Draco's eyebrows rose. "And she likes you _far_ more than I expected. It's rather fun to watch, if occasionally embarrassing."

"What did you mean about favors?" Behind them, Harry could see Snape emerging from the house, but he decided to ignore it. He had agreed to the protection, after all, and Snape had been decent about it so far. 

"Oh, the ball! We always have little presents, here and there, for the younger guests to find. It keeps them happy through hours of dancing and music and other adult entertainments. I've been helping hide them since I got too old for them myself, and have helped create them for the last three years. It's lots of fun." 

"What sort of things?" 

"Oh, you know!" Draco waved a hand carelessly to the side. "Tiny brooms that fly -- and if you're really lucky, maybe you find a player to go on it, as well. Or little sets of runes with some theme in common, or a child-sized telescope, or a clever little box with some candy inside it, or a glass pendant that you can change the color of with only a little magic. Use your imagination!" His eyes shone in the low winter light as he looked back at Harry. "You'll be marvelous, I'm sure." 

"It sounds like fun," Harry said frankly. "Will it be just us?" 

"Well, us and Mother," Draco answered. "But she works on her own." He led Harry down a white gravel path. "I'll show you what to do. Now come with me." 

They stepped through a gap in a holly hedge. Harry was expecting a garden, or more holly if it was a maze, but instead found himself facing a wall of bare, twisted bramble. He stopped. He could not imagine anything less Malfoy-ish. 

"It's Thorny Hedge," Draco said. "Wizards hide things in it. This one's been growing since my parents wed." 

"Oh, right! Hagrid showed Mill how to grow that into a form, but I've never seen it bare." 

"It is rather ugly. The holly is to conceal it."

"Why is it here?" 

"It's a labyrinth," Draco said. "I want to show you something in the center." 

"Okay," Harry said. He couldn't help thinking of last year, and Draco showing him thing after thing. Was today going to be more of that? It was a Draco sort of thing to do, so he might not mind now.

There were no choices, just turns and twists of a single long path, through passage after passage of tangled grey branches bristling with thorn. Draco moved with surety, all the while talking merrily about the ball, and how the ballroom and gallery would be all white and gold, with sparkles of snow falling from the ceiling, and the garden behind hung with flowers and crystals. While he talked, he took Harry around corners, deeper and deeper. With every turn, it seemed warmer. Harry thought he was imagining the change until Draco shrugged off his cloak, spurring Harry to do the same. He nearly bumped into Draco just short of a tall arch. 

"You need to take my hand." Draco's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Only a Malfoy can enter here unaccompanied."

Nodding, Harry reached out. Something strange and pleasant was tickling his nose. Draco turned sideways to step through the arch, pulling him along. 

The ground was soft as carpet under his front foot. He felt that before he saw the roses. They climbed an arbor in midsummer glory, soft white against glossy green. The ground, when he looked down, was thick moss, soft and springy beneath them. Draco held his hand. 

"It's ...." Harry lost the words. "How strange!"

"It's always summer here," Draco said, his grip tight. Harry suspected it would be dangerous to let go. "You were wondering about family curses -- why they don't affect my mother. _This_ is why. It's the Malfoy nuptial arbor -- sex here is what makes someone a Malfoy, to the land and house and some items. There are a few more complicated charms and hexes that require the birth of a child, and a very few that go by bloodline alone."

Harry looked around at the verdant summer garden and felt a glimmer of hope. "So," he asked, smiling uncertainly, "shall we?"

"Merlin, no! Mother would kill us both!" 

The words hit like a slap. Harry flailed for a neutral response. "Could she tell?" 

"Yes! The hedge would vanish before us as we left. Well, if it worked with a man. I mean, it might require reproductive sex. It works for a man if the heir is a woman." 

"So why bring me here?" Harry couldn't help sounding frustrated. Draco bit his lip. 

"I _always_ come here on Midwinter Day, to see summer. I'm sorry. I didn't think of how it would sound until I was explaining." He took a quick breath and let it out slowly. "I can't." 

"Because you can't marry until the hedge re-grows?"

"Because I can't marry while I'm married, you idiot!"

For a moment, Harry was speechless. Would they really be _married_? Could he press enough to get that? Didn't Draco know he would be tempted? "She wouldn't really kill you." 

"Why not?" Draco said coldly. "I would be useless to her. Or no." He gestured dismissal, perhaps to some wayward idea. "No, it would be easily fixed by _your_ death. As long as I was properly widowed, the magic would accept a wife, and no one else need know." Draco tried to toss his head carelessly. "And then I'd hate her, and she'd be contemptuous, and it would all be terribly tragic."

"Ah. No magical divorce, then?"

Draco arched an eyebrow. "If there was, do you think my mother would still be a Malfoy?" 

"Oh, point. Though she might want to keep the house." 

Draco looked around, and Harry did too, at the bright green moss, and dark green leaves, and creamy white blossoms. There was a bench under the arbor. A fairy thumbed her nose at them and dove under glossy foliage.

"Fairies," Harry said in surprise. He'd only seen them at Hogwarts.

"Well, of course! You can't expect bees. It's _December_. I think we should probably go, but ...." Contrary to his words, Draco led Harry forward to the flowers. "Pick one. Hold the stem." 

Curious, Harry chose carefully -- a flawless bloom just coming out of bud. He reached out an arm weighted down by a heavy wool cloak and took hold of the stem, and Draco dropped his wand into his free hand and cast a cutting spell.

"There," he said. "I don't dare even kiss here, but there is my love for you." He laughed slightly. "White for purity, you know -- perhaps Mother will think we are _pure_." 

Harry remembered Narcissa's comment about the letters. "I doubt that." 

Outside the clearing, they dropped hands to walk single file. The thorns stuck out in wicked points, more like hawthorn than blackberry, not leaving enough space for two. Harry could almost see how the hedges would melt into light before them, falling away to grass (somehow, in his vision, green). He set his jaw and focused on how it was really -- tangled grey canes with long, sharp thorns. 

"Will Mill be at the ball?" he asked. 

"What?" As he turned, Draco hissed, and brought his wrist to his mouth. "Ouch. No, I'm afraid the Bulstrodes are not in our circles." 

"She was at your eleventh birthday, apparently." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "A special event. With a restriction to children who would be in my year, the net had to be cast a little wider."

"But not so wide as to catch Ron." 

"Oh please! She's not a wealthy pureblood, but she's not impoverished."

"Money ranks over blood?"

Draco hesitated. "She's not an enemy either." 

"Right." 

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't make those decisions. My parents did." 

"But she still won't be here." 

Draco's eyes closed. "I didn't even think of it." His eyes opened. "Blaise won't be here either."

"He's too poor?"

"Much."

Harry felt his air had been cut off. "You like him."

"Yes." Draco turned away. "I'm sorry. I _do_ like him, and I didn't-- I just never-- If it was _our_ event...." 

Harry set his hands on Draco's shoulders, and Draco leaned back into the touch. "I did ask to invite Gilbert's family and Linnet's, which Mother would approve of."

"I gather the approval wasn't mutual."

"Linnet's family, you mean?" He sighed. "It's the Malfoy name, I'm sure." He was still facing away. "It's all _that_ convoluted."

Harry couldn't help but feel indignant that Mill and Blaise -- his friends, and clearly Draco's allies -- were not acceptable to invite. It at least meant something that Draco was uncomfortable as well. 

"Let's go in," Draco said. 

"I thought you were supposed to keep me outside." 

"I am supposed to keep you out of sight," Draco corrected. "And we can't go in a lot of rooms, or at least the bedrooms, as we've found. However, I bet you could go into the library." 

"All right." 

"Just don't touch anything that I haven't cleared first." 

 

They were looking through books on co-temporal divination when Tippy appeared to say the hired Enchanters were gone. Draco jumped eagerly to his feet. 

"Shouldn't we put the books away?" 

Draco waved the matter off. "They're nothing incriminating," he said. "Come on." He hurried Harry through rooms and passages, down a wider staircase than the one they had come up, and then briefly outside again in the still frosty day, so that they could come in the front door, as the guests would. Harry caught a glimpse of Severus coming out as they went inside, and wondering if they were irritating to follow -- and also, if Severus knew the significance of the labyrinth. They crossed the white marble entrance hall, to tall doors that were now slightly ajar. With a wide smile, Draco stepped to the side and pushed them a little more open. 

The ballroom was spectacular. Pine garlands, stars of silver and white sparkling in their long needles, added gentle curves to the juncture of wall and ceiling, and tumbled in falls along the sides of each tall window. Thinner garlands kept the pattern more finely at the fronts of tables and backs of chairs. Spikes of holly, laden with scarlet berries, adorned the hearth and the wall sconces, and strings of crystal stars on golden chains hung from the huge chandeliers. It was not at all what Harry had expected. He turned to Draco, only to find him open-mouthed with dismay. Narcissa was gliding across the room towards them, and Draco lurched towards her. 

"Mother!" he shouted. "What have you _done_?" 

"Now, darling--"

"It's all _wrong!_ "

"Draco, hush. It doesn't need to be the same every year."

"But it does!" Draco insisted, gesturing angrily at the beautiful room. "It's the Malfoy midwinter ball! It's supposed to be white and gold!"

" _Not_ this year," Narcissa said sharply. 

Her voice was too fierce to be cold. Harry cleared his throat. "Mrs. Malfoy? What -- When you were a kid, what colors-- how was it?"

She looked away. "Green," she said. "Greens everywhere, with highlights of this or that."

Draco looked like he'd been hit by a Bludger. Harry shifted forward. "And Mr. Malfoy...?"

"Not aristocratic enough for him," she sneered. "As if his house held a candle to mine!" She raised her head. "It is going to be different this year, Draco, and that is final. When you are host, you may choose."

"It's my house," Draco said, but rather quietly.

"Yes, dear. But it is my party, don't you agree? I set the time, and arranged for the workers, and sent the invitations, and handled the replies." 

Draco looked unhappy, but he hadn't set his chin for a fight. "Yes. However, I still think you should have consulted me. And this summer I plan to host a party that is mine." 

Narcissa practically glowed. "I would be delighted to assist." 

"Even if I invite Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode and Ron and Ginny Weasley?" 

Her eyes widened. "I--! Would you want to?"

Draco paused. "I'm not sure about Ron," he admitted. "But it would be awkward to invite Ginny without him, and I think she's worth it." He looked at Harry. "The Patil sisters?"

"They'd be delighted, I'm sure." Harry said "But what about Hermione?" 

Narcissa's hand flew to her mouth. Draco ignored it with a thoughtful frown. 

"I'm closer to her than to any of the others," he said deliberately, Narcissa's eyes widening as he spoke, "except possibly Blaise. The manor would pose dangers to her, though." 

"She's a _Gryffindor_ , Draco." 

"Yes, of course." Draco nodded decisively. "Hermione Granger, properly warned. It's settled." He looked back at his mother, and said: "I will endeavor to regard the decorations with a fresh mind. You would not prepare something less than beautiful, I am sure." 

With that, he swept Harry away across the room. 

Harry wondered what he would say when they stopped with enough privacy for conversation, but Draco drew him to long sideboard that was covered with half-unwrapped bundles, and began pulling them open, spilling out little toys and ornaments and other small things. As he started on the third, Harry picked up a hair clip. It was well made, but surprisingly plain. 

"What is all this?" 

"Bases for the party favors," Draco said. "Put that down, and I'll show you an easier one." Reaching into the heap he had just exposed, he pulled out a tiny tin tiger and then placed it on the dark wood. Harry's ring warmed as Draco drew his wand. His brow was furrowed with concentration as he focused on the tiger, and he steadied the little thing from the sides as he ran his wand tip from head to tail, whispering a charm. 

The painted colors smoothed and deepened. The square jaw lifted, and the tail lashed back and forth as the tiger snarled. It paced three inches to the crumpled paper of the package and three inches back. Draco touched his wand to it again. "Wait," he said, and the tiger yawned, and lay down, and seemingly went to sleep. 

"Now...." Draco looked around. After a moment, he began to walk toward one of the windows. Harry followed, and watched Draco reach just behind the heavy white and gold drapes of one window and set the tiger deep into shadow. "There!" he said. "We can do a zebra on the other side. I'll show you how." 

He also showed Harry how to give hair clips and tie clips the look of boughs of holly, or to dangle bells from hat pins or make lapel-pin stars glow in the dark. The charms, he said, usually only lasted a few months; most parents told their children that these were gifts of winter and would start to fade in the spring. Others would renew the charms themselves, perhaps in secret. It could cause nearly theological arguments between eight-year-olds from different types of families. 

They were nearly finished with the pile when the musicians -- a full dozen of them -- came in, with various large and small cases, and tromped up the side stairs to a recessed space at the far end of the hall, about even with the tops of the windows. Draco sighed and looked at the grandfather clock at their end. 

"It will be starting soon," he said. 

"Is something wrong with that?"

"Not really, just...." Draco shrugged. "I have three young ladies to talk to in private, and more to dance with. I'm not sure inviting you was a good idea." 

Harry's stomach lurched. "Oh?" 

"It's-- I feel like I'm trying to be two different people at once. She's going to interrogate me about Hermione, I'm sure."

In the charming of the favors, Harry had nearly forgotten the tense exchange that had preceded it. "Do you mean you'd pretend to hate Muggleborns if I wasn't here?" he demanded. 

"Harry! No, of course not." Draco hunched over. "But I wouldn't _mention_ it. I must be worrying her."

Irritated, Harry looked over at Narcissa, who was standing in front of the doors to the veranda, which matched the windows except for extending all the way down to the floor. She was charming flowers of frost onto panes of the glass, and didn't look as if she had a care in the world.

"Well, she shouldn't worry, and you should be honest." 

"Don't be angry! I _know_ she shouldn't worry, but she's older, and her upbringing was very strict. I'm afraid she may see it as disregard for ..." Draco turned his hands up helplessly. "Family. Ancestry. Society. Magic, even."

"Magic is not _ancestry_." 

"Yes, I know, but--"

"Look. You said she didn't think that you doing well meant no one else could. Why does honoring your family have to mean that other people's families don't matter?" 

Draco's panicked eyes blinked, and his look evened to consideration. "It always _has_ ," he said finally, his hands lifting almost to his shoulders. "Yes, I know that's a stupid answer; give me a moment." He took a breath, his chest visibly swelling and falling. Above them, the musicians were tuning strings and tooting on things Harry couldn't name. "Disparagement of one should not be requisite to respect for the other," he murmured, as formally as a barrister, but very softly. "Yes. An effective angle. Thank you, Harry." 

"Why would you even need to _say_ that?" Harry retorted. "I thought you understood it!" 

Draco shrugged. "Understanding is not articulation, and articulation for one audience is not always the same as articulation for another. You _understand_ that yourself, even if you couldn't say it neatly. You found an analogy to something she inherently believes, and has argued in my defense, and that could make a difference." 

Harry hadn't thought that was what he'd been doing at all. While he tried to puzzle it out, a single, mellow-toned instrument started into a waltz, and Draco stood. Tentatively, he held out his hand. 

"May I have this dance?" 

Suddenly dry-mouthed, Harry nodded. Draco moved into his arms like a girl. "You need to lead," he whispered. "I don't want to confuse an inexperienced pupil before the ball." 

"Oh." That settled, Harry began to move, forcing the first few steps awkwardly. They had practiced earlier in the week, with Draco showing him two new dances, including a completely ridiculous thing called a gavotte, which Harry hoped to avoid. The waltz, however, was relatively easy, as he had done it a few times with Hermione since Draco had shown them the steps, and once he recovered from his surprise, he found himself moving more smoothly. The spacious, empty floor was far easier to turn across than the cluttered space of the Uncommon Room. Draco had moved the sofas there, but left the chairs out to give Harry "practice in maneuvering."

Rather than fading off into tuning, the tune was picked up by a few more instruments -- strings of some sort. As he turned Draco, Harry wondered if the musicians were watching. A bit smugly, he moved into his favorite bit, the dramatic zigzag steps, and then twisted Draco into a closer, nested hold. 

The move left them facing Narcissa. She was standing and watching them, wand down by her side, frost flowers abandoned behind her. Draco stumbled. Harry caught him. Quickly, Harry turned him back into a standard face to face hold and unembellished progressive steps. Draco could apparently do those backwards with his eyes squeezed shut. 

"She didn't look angry," Harry murmured. 

"I forgot she was there." 

"Is it okay?" 

Draco's eyes opened. "Yes. I mean, she knows, right? I was just startled. Shall we try another turn?" 

 

They stayed together until the first guests -- an older couple that Harry did not know -- arrived. The wizard glanced distractedly at him as Narcissa and Draco greeted them, and Harry moved further out of the way, so he was partially sheltered by the wide drapes and pine swags by the time the next family entered. Draco had to greet everyone, it seemed. Squib waiters, hired for the evening, were distributing flutes of champagne as people trickled in, offering each with a murmured, "save for the toast." Harry had no sooner received one than Tonks, as the forgettable French cousin, came by with another. While they made small talk, 'he' put his own flute of champagne down on the windowsill and took Harry's with a wink. Harry waited curiously to taste it. 

Eventually, one of the musicians struck a bell or gong, and the room fell silent. Narcissa was standing alone on a low balcony, just wide enough for two. Raising her glass, she made a strange, formal toast about moments of balance and gathering in peace -- not a concept Harry associated with the guests he recognized. She lowered her glass and drank, and all around Harry, glasses dipped down to be raised to lips. His substitute champagne didn't seem to be non-alcoholic, so he supposed the switch was to protect him from poisoning. That was a worrisome thought.

The room was now just short of crowded, with the festively attired guests adding to the beauty of the already stunning ballroom. The wizards -- or most of them -- wore as much color as the witches, and in addition to robes, came garbed in styles that suggested elements of the last several centuries of Muggle attire, weighting older. The women, with a very few exceptions, wore gowns, which Harry suspected were better for dancing than robes. Indeed, the exceptions were mostly elderly women who looked unlikely to dance. One was even in a floating chair. 

The polished dance floor, however, was empty. Harry was wondering about that when the musician struck a chord, and Draco stepped out into the grand space with a girl in pink. They walked to the very center of the floor, music flooded down from the gallery, and they began a waltz. He was the picture of elegance. She giggled as he spun her, and whispered into his ear when he held her close, and Harry rather hated her. Soon, though, the music quieted, as if someone had turned down the volume on a stereo. Harry recognized the charm he and Draco had tested earlier -- one to mute the music beyond the dance floor, to ease conversation. That seemed to be the signal for other couples to take to the floor, and soon Harry saw Draco only in occasional glimpses through the crowd. 

He stayed near the window -- the one with Draco's tiger -- with a wall to his back. Some guests glared when they saw him, but they all seemed to lose interest after a few seconds. More ignored him, at least overtly. Nearby, a group of three women, just ahead and to his right, were having an animated conversation about their children's latest activities, but they were not so close that Harry had to listen to the details. He took the time to survey the room for people he knew. From here, he could see Pansy and one of the Greengrass girls at a sideboard, talking to someone who might be Hugh Cecilus, and he thought the little boy strutting back and forth at the far end of the hall might be Ogden. However, there was no sign of Gilbert or Linnet. Harry wondered if her parents had changed their minds. 

A shadow across the holly brought his attention closer. Various people had been passing by, but this man was angling closer than most. He was of medium size, with the stoutness of wealth, his dark robes adorned with green leaves around the collar and in two sweeps in front. Harry expected him to join the women, but he turned and took his last steps more plainly, stopping directly in front of Harry to rake him over with an evaluating stare. 

"Narcissa is inviting mongrels now, is she? How sad." 

The women's conversation stuttered, and then resumed a little louder. Harry unclenched his teeth and told himself not to take the bait. What would Draco say?

"Our hostess can invite anyone she wants, I'm sure. Have your own party, if you don't like it." Well, maybe Draco wouldn't be that blunt, but he was at least speaking as someone who was welcome here. 

The stranger scowled, stepping in so close that Harry was reminded of his uncle. Almost by reflex, Harry took on the unconcerned look that a man of that type would find infuriating, but he also curled his thumb to his wooden ring. It wasn't alerting him to anything.

"Or perhaps she's done us a favor," the man hissed. "You're out of your element, mongrel." 

The rest of Harry's hand clenched in. He was marshalling words when a flurry of aquamarine flew in from the side, and a small hand slipped under his arm. 

"Harry!" Linnet warbled, with delight overt enough to actually get them a glance from the women discussing their children. "How lovely to see you! _Now_ I understand why Draco invited me." 

With the slightest of shrugs, Gilbert, behind her, met Harry's eyes and smiled. Harry felt his shoulders settle with relief. He hadn't realized how tense the isolation had made him. 

The man scowled at Linnet. "And blood traitors as well. Lucius would be appalled." 

_That_ caused one of the women to turn, her satin skirts make a smart "shf!" at the pivot. "Now really, Mr. Parkinson!" She smiled at Linnet. "Don't take it personally, Miss Hanley. He was hoping for better returns on his investment, I'm sure." 

Linnet raised her chin as she looked up at Mr. Parkinson, and Harry thought he almost shrunk back. "Do you know what my father says? 'An excessive focus on bloodline is a sign of someone who doubts his or her intrinsic worth.'" 

Gilbert stepped forward. "Linnet, my sweet -- perhaps this isn't the night for politics?"

He took her by the arm and tried to lead her aside, but she held on to Harry. 

"I wasn't the one who started throwing around offensive labels at no provocation." Having made her statement, she returned to a false copy of her usual bright smile. "But you're right; it _is_ a party. I forgive you the offense against my family, Mr. Parkinson. I'm sure it will have quite have slipped my mind by the end of the evening." 

With that, she stepped away, pulling both Harry and Gilbert along with her. She didn't stop until they had a sideboard and an ice sculpture between them and Mr. Parkinson. Looking back, Harry saw the woman who had spoken berating him. 

"Is that Pansy's dad?" he asked. 

Gilbert snorted. 'Inimitably familiar, as always, Harry."

"Yes," Linnet said. "That's her dear daddy. And he works in property management."

Harry didn't think he'd ever heard that hard scorn from her. Confused, he looked to Gilbert, who responded with a little smile. 

"Linnet's father, you see, is the Undersecretary of Land Preservation. If you want to make new land Unplottable, or set long term Muggle-repulsion charms, he's your man. Mr. Parkinson's tongue got ahead of his brain, I would say."

"Oh." Harry glanced at Linnet, who had the grace to look abashed. He supposed that explained the woman who had defended her, as well. 

She raised her chin.

"I do hope you're better protected than you seem." 

He grinned at her switch to offense. "Right. You wouldn't want anyone blowing their cover over a few harsh words, right?"

Nodding, she stepped back. "That's what we're for, I expect. And as I understand it, you only have to worry about the people who abstained from the toast."

"The toast? Was that a charm?" 

Gilbert smirked. "It's not the words; it's Adelaide's Amiability Elixer in the champagne, as I understand it. Good natured arguments continue. You _can_ fight, but it generally feels like too much bother. Mr. Parkinson clearly didn't have any, and from the way you were clenching your fist, neither did you." 

"Ah. No, someone switched glasses with me." 

"An ally, I hope?" 

"Of course." Although he hadn't, he realized, confirmed that.

Linnet bounced. "And we came in too late to have any. But here I am at the celebrated Malfoy Yule ball!" She looked around. "Not at all as I've heard it described." 

"It's _always_ been white and gold," Gilbert protested.

"Narcissa changed it around," Harry said. "It threw Draco, too. But apparently the white and gold was Lucius Malfoy's choice, not hers." 

"Ah!" Linnet looked keenly from one feature of the decorations to another. "Yes, the sparks drifting down from the evergreen swags look rather like something Mrs. Tonks does on a smaller scale. It must be a family charm."

"You know Tonks's Mu- ther?"

Linnet frowned. "Does she have children? Oh, yes, there's a girl, isn't there? Older than us, and rather clumsy."

Harry nodded. "And lots of fun. She's an Auror, and was protecting Draco during the trial." 

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "And yet, 'fun'?" 

"We've met up since. I mean, she wasn't unprofessional or anything. She wanted to get to know her cousin." 

"Oh, really? And did his mother approve this?"

"She just found out about it last night."

Gilbert smirked. "Horrified?"

"Yeah. Alarmed, almost." Harry didn't think he could quite explain how Mrs. Malfoy had reacted. There had been more there than he could quite see. Beside him, Linnet sighed loudly. 

"Such wonderful music. Do you suppose _anyone_ will ask me to dance?" 

Harry looked at Gilbert, who gestured encouragement with a waggling flick of his fingers, held low by his side. 

"I'm not very good," he said awkwardly, "but if you like--" 

Linnet's finger stilled his lips. "Harry," she chided. "You can do better than that." 

He closed his eyes for a moment as she stepped away, then swallowed and focused on her. The band in the gallery was just finished up a tune, with a wild sweep of strings. "Miss Hanley," he said politely, extending his hand for hers as he bowed. "May I have this dance?"

"I would be delighted," she answered, beaming, and that was that. Draco's lessons worked even with someone who wasn't Draco or Hermione, and it wasn't so hard to see him in passing when he was dancing himself. 

 

After two dances, Linnet laughed that they would cause gossip if they shared a third so soon, and Harry found himself looking for another partner. Now that he was thinking of it, he could see how certain girls passed near him and lingered, swaying slightly while they smiled on the dancers, and it took little more than a cough to turn their eyes to him. Draco left the room with a girl and her parents, and Harry ignored it with a foxtrot. He couldn't do all the flourishes of the people around him, but he didn't step on the girl's feet, and she looked happy when he finished. After bows and thank yous, he looked around for something to quench his thirst.

As soon as he started for the sideboard, Professor Snape was in his path. "Here," he said, shoving a heavy goblet into Harry's hands. "I won't have you downing a quart of Narcissa's brew and falling in the fountain." 

The punch looked perfect, and smelled fruity and sweet. The goblet was pleasantly cold in Harry's hands, and he raised it to his forehead while he frowned at Snape. "What was my project last year?"

"The sanctioned one or the other?" Snape sneered back, but then shook his hair from his eyes. "Growing fur on some Muggle substance, for some incomprehensible reason." 

"Thanks." The punch tasted even better than it smelled. Snape nodded. 

"Well done," he murmured, and was away.

Harry moved closer to the sideboard anyway, to take himself from the pool of potential dancers for a tune or two -- enough time to catch his breath. To his surprise, the next older stranger to speak to him actually smiled. 

"Are you enjoying the evening, Mr. Potter?" the man asked cordially. He was wearing robes, but of an iridescent purple velvet that was almost black where the shadow of a garland fell on it. His matching hat was embroidered in silver. 

"Yes," Harry answered, as if it were that simple. "And you?"

"Oh, I always love parties," the man replied airily. "Although the change in decor was a shock. Do you suppose our hostess is trying to break with the past?"

Ah, he was being sounded out! Feeling more comfortable, Harry shrugged. "She invited me, didn't she?" 

"Did she? I was wondering if you were here as someone's unspecified guest." 

"No, she invited me," Harry replied. "I arrived last night, actually, and had dinner here." 

"Oh, I _see_." The man gestured vaguely to the side, where Harry could just spot the brilliant blue of Linnet's gown. "With those schoolmates you were speaking with?" 

"No, they just came for the ball. Though Linnet hasn't been before. Draco wanted me to have friends here, I think." 

The man's light smirk seemed almost familiar. "Ah. I had wondered if my boy was overstating it." He held out his hand. "I believe I neglected to introduce myself. Mr. Horatio Clarke."

"Harry Potter," Harry said, automatically accepting the handshake. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Clarke." The coached phrase, held back in some earlier introductions, came out easily this time. "You're Gilbert and Gloria's father?"

The man's mouth quirked, and he bowed slightly. "I am." He motioned to a waiter for wine. "I was surprised to hear them speaking of you, and even more so that both did so with regard. You seem to have used your influence with Albus Dumbledore to good effect." 

Harry couldn't keep from making a face. He knew that Mr. Clarke was referring to the mixed-house space, but Dumbledore's potion was the first thing to come to his mind. He was also belatedly recalling the black bead on Gilbert's string. This man, however pleasant he seemed, had tacitly supported Voldemort in the past. "My influence with him is mostly in other people's imaginations," he said. "Or at least so unpredictable that it hardly matters." 

Clarke's eyebrows rose. "And yet you managed to get mixed-house social space available at Hogwarts for the first time in three centuries?" 

Harry was going to take that one to Hermione. This had happened before? And she hadn't quoted _Hogwarts: A History_ at him? "Oh, that's just persistence. Draco and I together are hard to refuse."

His mouth twitched. "You believe you badgered the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot into indulging a fancy?" 

"No, I believe that we convinced him it was a _good idea_ to foster inter-house cooperation, because Draco is persuasive, and I won't be pushed off." 

Clarke's eye roll was amusingly familiar, but still irritating. "Blunt," he said. 

"Yes." 

"Oh, dear. So many stories make more sense now." 

It was light banter, but Harry was tired of it. He looked the man in the eye. "I will destroy Voldemort," he said. "And he's an idiot. There's 'blunt' for you." Turning on his heel, he left. 

 

He looked around for Draco, wondering if he could manage to approach him as a friend, if not his lover. After a moment, he spotted him coming through the doorway from the foyer, a girl on his arm. At the edge of the dance floor, he bowed to her, she curtsied, and they went their separate ways. That seemed to be a good sign, but reaching him was another story. At Harry's end of the hall, the dancers went nearly to the wall, and for almost a minute, he was stuck behind a portly couple choosing finger sandwiches. When the dance came to an end, he was able to dart between a curtsying woman and the munching guests. On the other side, however, he could no longer see Draco near the door. When Harry eventually spied him, he was offering his hand to a younger girl. Irritated, Harry turned, seeking out the nearest potential partner who met his eyes. He smiled, she smiled, and he stepped forward. 

"May I have this dance?"

"It would be my pleasure." 

That was enough. He was astounded when he thought back on how impossible he had found it as a fourth year. 

As he led her into the huge circle of couples, the musician who announced the pieces said something about getting acquainted, and the girl clutched his hand. 

"Too bad," she said. 

"What?" 

"This is one of those dances where you switch partners."

"What? I thought it was a waltz."

She caught the panic in his tone and looked at him sympathetically. "It's a _meeting_ waltz. Maybe that's a pureblood thing? You just switch a few times -- at the end of each, um, whatzit. Passage? What would be a verse in a song. You'll know when we get there." The music was starting, and she stepped forward into his arms. "Just turn around, step forward, and bow."

When the time came, he knew what she meant, but not quickly enough. He lagged everyone else's pivot by a beat. The woman he found himself facing tugged up her gloves and held herself stiffly as far away as possible, looking stonily over his shoulder as they moved back in the other direction. He was relieved when the change in the music came again, and he pivoted to face his original partner. She held his eyes and smiled as they moved. When they had found their rhythm, she leaned close and whispered in his ear. "It's forward next time, and will probably end there. Save me a dance later?" 

"I'd be glad to." 

He walked through, on the same beat as everyone else, and bowed ... to Esmée Sinclair. 

Her hair was woven elaborately over her head, with only small curls left free by her ears, and her gown was a soft lavender, with matching gloves, just like in the picture. Her eyes -- the edges darkened with cosmetics or a charm -- widened as much as he thought his had, and they had to stumble into position and pick up the waltz on the second bar. 

"How-- how good to meet you," she managed. "I am Esmée Sinclair." 

"Harry Potter," he replied shortly. 

She bit her lip. "I meant it sincerely," she said. She looked hurt, and Harry felt ashamed of his churlishness. 

"Sorry," he said. "I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Sinclair." He turned her and brought her back. "I was startled." 

"Startled?"

"I hadn't realized you were here."

"Ah. So you know _why_ I am." 

"Yes, of course." 

She was a very good dancer. Harry concentrated on that and hoped she didn't find him too boring. He only knew how to lead a few moves. However, he certainly knew enough not to step on her feet, and he could recognize the slow crescendo that meant music drawing to a close. He took that cue to turn her again and again, like a toy ballerina, so she was laughing when it ended and nearly fell against him. 

"I think being paired with you was a piece of good luck," she confided in his ear. "Would you mind missing a dance? We should talk." 

He didn't really agree, but if he refused, he was sure she would think he was afraid. "Okay," he said, and, her arm still curled under his, she guided him from the dance floor. The music softened to a pleasant background level as they stepped off the polished wood. 

"So," she said, releasing him to pick up a glass of wine, "as I understand matters, you are Draco Malfoy's lover."

Feeling awkward again, he nodded. "For now," he said. It sounded a little bitter.

For a moment, she looked around the glittering ballroom, her expression wistful. "I don't believe he will choose me," she said, turning to meet his eyes, "but if he does, I would not object to you, provided you were discreet." 

The offer knocked the breath out of him as effectively as a Bludger. It was generous, he knew. It was also, most likely, a negotiation with Draco through him. He shook his head. 

"I couldn't do that," he managed finally. "I want.... I need family. Real family, not something I visit. He does as well, I think." 

She laughed, and took his arm again, as cozily as if they had been friends for years. "Oh dear. You really don't know how to play, do you? Let me help." She sent him a flirtatious look. "Would your friends be shocked to see you with a girl?"

"I like girls," he said defensively. 

"All the better. And dear Draco was avoiding you earlier, was he not?" 

"As far as I can tell." 

"Well, then! Let's give him a bit of intrigue, shall we? I fancy a walk in the garden -- I'm told it's unseasonably marvelous!"

He caught her point, but was annoyed enough to go along, and they left by the huge French doors onto the patio. Indeed, the garden behind the ballroom, though not summery like the nuptial garden, was magically warmed. It had also clearly been designed for winter color. Past the white marble benches and silver trees, straight shoots of dogwood flared from orange up to red alongside white gravel paths that curved out of sight. Closer to the door, red berries clung to silvery branches on two trees, each set in a circle of glossy green ground ivy and curved white marble benches. Amongst the natural color, hothouse flowers were arranged in pink marble urns, lending ephemeral beauty in the unnatural warmth. Harry had no doubt they would be dead by dawn tomorrow, after the party ended and the warming charm lapsed, but for now, they were lovely. He walked with Esmée, her arm through his, down one of the curved paths, out of sight of the doors. He hoped that Snape, as well as Draco, had seen them leave; he'd stopped even trying to track the man in the crowd. 

"Tell me," she said, "do Muggles have parties like this?" 

He laughed slightly. "I wouldn't know. I mean, my Aunt and Uncle wouldn't. You could fit their house and half the garden in that ballroom."

"Ah. So you didn't learn to dance at home."

"No. Draco taught me. Does it show?"

"I thought you were quite graceful," she said politely. "Not an extensive repertoire, but showing definite potential." 

"Right. Whereas you're grace personified." 

"I had my first tutor at four." She glanced at him. "And it became one of my truest pleasures. Draco is quite good, is he not?"

"Yeah." 

"That was my firmest criteria. They could send me to England, to some man I had never met, but if he wasn't a good dancer, I would have nothing further to do with it." 

"Ah." She was joking, he thought, but her voice wasn't quite steady. He turned to her. Nearby, he heard a dislodged stone tumble into a new position. Snape, probably. His ring was cool. "Were you disappointed that he was?" 

She bit her lip slightly as she looked in his eyes. He tucked one of those little curls back behind her ear. 

"Maybe." Her voice was small. "I'm selfish, I know. He's better than I could expect in many ways...." 

"Shh." She was holding both his hands now, so he leaned in and kissed her forehead. 

"I just want someone who wants me."

"Of course you do. And people must. You're lovely."

She stepped closer, and lifted her face. Inviting a kiss, Harry realized. He twitched slightly. He had only a moment to decide. Did it matter, with what Draco was doing? On the other hand, did he want to?

There was a huge crackling of twigs to one side of the path behind them. Harry whirled to see Draco emerging through the fiery branches. 

"Don't you dare!" 

"What?" 

"You were going to _kiss_ her!" 

"I wasn't, and what if I was? What the hell does it matter if I kiss someone? You were interviewing a wife!"

Esmée took two rapid steps back, Draco's glare following before he pivoted back to Harry. He drew himself up haughtily, orange twigs still hanging off his collar and sleeve. 

"I wasn't _flirting_ withher! I was discussing a contract."

"A contract to have her in your bed for twenty years! You're going to _fuck_ her, Draco. That's how people make babies, don't you know that? It's not done by signing your name on a _contract."_

Esmée, who had gasped at his vulgarity, was now as far back as the curl of the path would allow. Her wide skirts would not permit her to reverse Draco's entrance through the branches. 

"I'm not doing it now! I'm not! And you're out here, with this grasping little tart--"

"YOU LEAVE HER OUT OF IT! _She_ was perf--"

" _You_ didn't leave her out of it!"

"Did you expect me to wait around for _you_ all evening?" 

"Yes! Like a civilized wizard." 

"Like a damn toy that you don't even want to kee--!" 

Esmée shrieked, and thrashed. For a split second, Harry looked. All she was fighting was the dense growth of dogwood, which had tangled in her elaborate hairdo. A branch twisted unnaturally around her upper arm. His ring was hot. As he registered that, he was staggering backwards, his wand was ripped from his hands by a disarming spell. 

Harry spun around. Mr. Parkinson hadn't bothered to hide his features, or his distinctive holiday robes, where he stood in the smooth path. Draco stood petrified between them, his wand half out of his gathered sleeve. Esmée was breathing in harsh gasps, but made no other sound.

As Harry met his eyes, Mr. Parkinson smiled. 

"You'll make a _stunning_ Christmas present for someone I know," he said smugly. Slowly, he stroked his wand down the front of his gloved fingers, watching Harry like a hawk. Furious, Harry stood, fists clenched at his sides. Was Snape petrified like Draco, somewhere in maze of garden paths? Or creeping closer, lining up a shot? Or had he missed them leaving?

"What, no resistance?" Parkinson stepped forward. "You shouldn't have come here," he mocked. "No one here really cares." 

Harry gathered his fury and shoved it out with a snarl. 

" _Stupefy_."

Caught in mid-step, Parkinson toppled. Dark orange curselight passed over him as he fell. Harry scooped up his own wand, training it where the spell had come from, but it was Snape who darted out of the shadows.

"I told you to reserve that!"

"He attacked me! Where the fuck were you?" 

"Language, Potter," Snape snarled. "Perhaps if you had stayed where you belonged...." 

Turning his back, Harry released Draco. Draco swayed for a moment, and then shoved his wand back into his sleeve. For that instant, Harry was breathless with relief. 

Draco swallowed. His expression darkened, and he opened his mouth to speak.

In his pocket, Harry slipped a fingertip inside the protective case of Remus's bookmark, and the Malfoys' winter garden spun away into darkness. 


	41. A Certain Point of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this story has all been pureblood (though lower-class) Snape, I decided to change his Patronus to what I probably would have chosen for him when _Goblet of Fire_ was the latest book -- that is, when I wrote _Snakes and Lions_. This Snape wasn't a childhood friend of Lily -- though he may have liked her, and he did hate James.

 

The kitchen of Darkmoon Den was dimly lit by a low fire. Behind a curtain, Harry heard a quick scramble of motion, and then Sirius -- shirtless and breathless -- burst out, wand drawn. 

"Harry!" His wide eyes flicked around the room as if checking for attackers. "Are you injured?"

Remus had followed more sedately, settling the hem of his sweater. "We'd almost decided you must be safe." 

"I'm _fine!_ " Harry fumed. "It's just Draco." 

"Ah!" Sirius relaxed at once. To Harry's annoyance, he looked delighted. "Not as well behaved in his own home, is he?"

Harry glared. "It's not _that_. It's just the marrying thing." He growled. "I know I _knew_ , but having him avoid me for these _girls_.... And then he had the gall to get angry because I was _talking_ to a girl in the garden!" 

Sirius snorted, and Remus raised his eyebrows. "Talking? Or was there more contact than that?" 

Harry knew there had been. "I was holding her hands, but just because she was upset, and she was-- Draco said I was going to _kiss_ her, and I wasn't!" 

Sirius leaned back against the low wall, his arms crossing, his smile wide. "And here I was afraid you'd been attacked."

"Oh." Embarrassed, Harry grinned. "Um, I was, actually, but it didn't go far." 

There was a moment of silence. Remus rubbed his forehead.

"Professor Snape saved you?" he asked. 

"No. Well, he would have," Harry amended quickly at Sirius's glower, "but I got off a Stupefaction hex first, so whatever he cast went over." 

"And _then_ you fought with Draco?"

"And then I released Draco, who was Petrified -- in the attack, that is -- and went back to fighting with him." He'd totally ignored Esmée, Harry realized. She'd still been stuck in the dogwood. Snape would have released her by now, of course, if she couldn't get to her own wand, but she probably thought he was a complete lout. 

"Good to know you take your safety so seriously." 

Remus shot Sirius a look. "Perhaps I'd better make some tea." 

 

Remus filled the kettle, while Sirius, without prompting, moved to the fire, uncovering the embers and adding kindling. 

"Does Professor Snape know where you are?" Remus asked, as he hung the kettle from an iron hook and swung it over the new flames. Harry thought he must find the ritual comforting, because he knew magic could boil water instantly. Or maybe it was something about being in hiding.

"No, but I told him I had a Portkey to someplace safe, and he saw me vanish."

"So he will _suspect_ that you are someplace that you _consider_ safe." Remus frowned. "I could send a message, but he might not be able to receive it." 

"Draco will know if he asks him." 

As if on cue, a silvery rook -- a Patronus, Harry realized -- flew through the wall and directly to Remus. 

"The boy has left," it said, in a harsh, but very human voice. "Reply immediately, whatever foolishness you may be engaged in, to tell me if he is with you or not. I cannot stay alone for long." 

Remus grinned at the bird. "He is with me, and safe. I will return him to Hogwarts after breakfast tomorrow." 

With a nod and rook-like croak, the bird spread its wings and flapped off through the roof. 

"Faster than an actual bird, fortunately," Remus said, turning back to the shelves over the sink to take down a teapot. "Severus may fume, but he'll accept it. Sit down, Harry; the chairs are cleaner than that wall you're leaning against." 

Suddenly -- and awkwardly-- aware of his elegant dress robes, Harry moved away from the wall and sat in one of the two chairs at the little table. He tried to ignore the white rose (now slightly crushed) in his lapel. Sirius unhooked the extra chair from the wall and put it down, straddling it backwards. The slats of the back obscured most of his bare chest, but he folded his arms across the top, displaying several tattoos. 

"Are any of those magical?" Harry blurted out.

Sirius grinned. "Not a one." 

"He even got some of them the Muggle way," Remus added, bringing the teapot to the table. He rolled his eyes. "Because enduring unnecessary pain is so manly." 

Sirius grinned at the cut. " _Something_ drew you to my bed." 

"Hm. But you're often confused between 'because of' and 'despite.'"

"Or perhaps you're confused between 'want' and 'ought to want.'" 

"Oh, just put on a shirt, will you? It will make conversation much easier." 

"You could have just said I was too sexy to ignore!" With a laugh, Sirius bounded up and through the curtain. For a moment, Remus hid his eyes. 

"That man!" Smiling, he pushed a cup of tea in Harry's direction. "So tell me -- how was the Malfoy ball?" 

Harry shrugged. "Beautiful," he said awkwardly. "If it wasn't for -- if I wasn't attached, it would have been more fun."

"Oh?" 

"You know." Harry looked away, but Sirius returning made that less effective. The croft was too small to look somewhere no one was. "Food, and beautiful decorations, and music and _dancing_ , which I'm finally okay with."

"Hm." Remus looked skeptical. "And at the Malfoy ball, there were people willing to dance with you?"

"Plenty! And I can _tell_ now. All these _girls_ with their pretty dresses and their pretty smiles, and it feels like it would be so much _simpler_."

Remus hesitated. "Perhaps."

"But I know girls, really. They're not any simpler than anyone else." 

Sirius snorted. "'Anyone else?' You mean _boys_?" 

Harry shrugged. "Boys, men, women, Centaurs, House Elves...."

"I hope that's not a list of potential partners," Remus teased.

"No, I just meant sorts of people." 

"Oh really, Harry!" Sirius waved the matter away. _"House Elves_ are quite simple. And not people." 

Somehow, this made Harry more angry than the same sentiment from an enemy. "If you think that, you've never really talked to one." 

Sirius snorted. "I'd kill myself, I think!" 

Harry pushed away his tea, sloshing it over the saucer and part of the table. He stood. "Dobby!" he called. 

He thought immediately that this wouldn't work. He wasn't at Hogwarts. There was no way--

With a pop of displaced air, Dobby appeared, his newest accoutrement, a knit scarf, wavering in the flow of it. "Harry Potter, sir!" he exclaimed. "Harry Potter needs something from Dobby?" 

"Not exactly," Harry said, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction. "I was just wondering if you'd hear me." 

Dobby beamed. "I always hear you, Harry Potter, sir." 

Sirius was staring. Harry gathered his composure. 

"Draco says that means I'm your master," he said. "I've told him he's wrong, though." 

Dobby considered that, and then nodded. "Dobby has no Master," he said proudly. "House Elves have special bond to people we need to help," he said. "Also people we _want_ to help. Dobby hears you -- wherever you be." 

Harry felt his throat close up. He struggled to clear it quietly. "Thank you," he said. He had to cough a little. "I know you're a free Elf."

Dobby nodded proudly. "Maybe Draco Malfoy is not a bad wizard," he said, "but Draco Malfoy is a Malfoy, and not understand freedom." 

"Right!" chipped in the wizard who said he'd kill himself if he had to talk to a House Elf. Harry shot him a glare. 

"Draco tries," he said to Dobby. "Now, anyway." 

"Because Harry Potter is good and wise! Draco Malfoy must try for Harry Potter. Malfoys know what they must do to have good things." 

Harry shook his head. "It's not that simple," he said. "He was brought up to think that way." 

Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby is not appreciating Draco Malfoy as his own wizard," he said dejectedly. "Dobby is ashamed. Draco Malfoy _apologized_ to Dobby, and Lucius Malfoy could not do that, ever!"

"I don't think you should be _ashamed_ ," Harry said hastily. "He was horrible to you for years, and he still does have some attitudes I don't like. But you should remember he's own wizard, just like he should remember you're a free Elf."

Dobby nodded. "Freedom is good for Elves _and_ wizards." 

Sirius cocked his head. "But he comes when you call," he said to Harry. 

Dobby drew himself to his full, short height, and he lifted his long nose to glare at Sirius. 

"Freedom is good," he repeated. " _Helping_ is good too. Dobby is very fortunate House Elf to have both freedom and someone to help." 

"But what good is freedom, then?" Remus asked curiously. To Harry's relief, he addressed the question to Dobby.

"Dobby _chooses_ who to help. Dobby _chooses_ what to do. If Harry Potter told Dobby to do something bad, Dobby would not do it -- and Dobby would not need to iron his ears!" 

The Elf stepped back. "Some House Elves think it is good to have Wizard masters. They say Wizards naturally treasure their Elves, and it is only at bad times that they are cruel. I think it is the other way. _Most_ wizards are cruel to House Elves, and only a few _good_ Wizards appreciate House Elves. If House Elves were free, each could choose someone good to care for. That would be better."

"Would that work, though? I thought House Elves needed masters, to, hm, make little elves?" 

Dobby cackled with laughter. "No, Mr. Remus Lupin. Free House Elves can still have families. House Elves do not need a master; House Elves need a _house_ \-- even single House Elves. It is wizards and witches that have the house." 

"And your house is Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Dobby nodded. "That is why Dobby can appear there from outside." 

"Oh!" That had possibilities. "So could you take me with you?"

Dobby shook his head. "The red mists would stop Harry Potter." He nodded. "Dobby could move Harry Potter within Hogwarts, but not in or out."

"Really!" Harry laughed. "I might ask you next time I'm late for Potions." 

Dobby's grin stretched to his ears, which twitched as if he was laughing too. "Dobby will be happy to take Harry Potter to Potions. Dobby will not even tell House Master Albus Dumbledore. Harry Potter must go up stairs on his own, though!"

Harry grinned. "Considering how the Hogwarts Elves feed me, I'd get fat if I didn't."

Dobby bowed as if this were a great compliment. "Does Harry Potter want anything from Hogwarts?" he asked. 

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought of that. "Um -- well, could you get me my pajamas? And maybe something more normal to wear in the morning?" 

"Dobby will fetch things right away!" 

With a crack, he vanished. There was a moment of silence.

"That is a very odd House Elf," Sirius said. "And you are an odd boy." 

"I thought he was quite interesting," Remus said mildly. "I admit, I've never discussed freedom with a House Elf before. Of course there is no reason that loyalty should require subservience, but it always seemed that way with them." He looked keenly at Harry. "That was the Malfoy Elf that you freed when you were in your second year, correct?" 

"How do you know about that?" 

"Professor Dumbledore told me the tale when I was teaching at Hogwarts. Nominally as an example of your inherent kindness, but perhaps he would have anyway. It is quite a funny story, properly presented." 

Dobby reappeared at that moment, with a stack of neatly folded clothing, tied together with a wide red ribbon. 

"Your clothes, Harry Potter, sir!" 

"Thank you, Dobby." 

With a smile and a snap of his fingers, Dobby vanished again. There was a long silence.

Sirius coughed. "So, the Malfoys are down a House Elf, are they?" he said casually. "Do they have any left?" 

"I saw one," Harry said. "Tippy. Though I'd think it would take more for a place that size." 

"Tippy?" Sirius said. "She was a Black House Elf. Must have come to Narcissa when her father died."

Remus cleared his throat. He looked at Harry. "Some House Elves stay with a place when it is sold," he said. "If the renovations are extensive, however, some move on with the family." 

Sirius snorted. "It was all girls," he said. "The buyers razed the place, as I recall."

Perhaps he hadn't mean "girls" to sound scornful, but it seemed that way to Harry. He tensed. "I'll never understand pureblood attitudes," he said, and Sirius flinched. 

"That's what they did," he said. "Nothing to do with being pureblood." 

"But they were all _girls_ ," Harry mocked.

"And they all married!" Sirius was standing, leaning forward. Harry found he was standing too, his hands braced against the table. 

"So?" 

Sirius blinked. After a moment, he laughed. "Oh. Got it." He rubbed the back of his head. "That might be more money than blood status? And Narcissa did keep one of the family houses, I think. Maybe in Provence?" He smiled apologetically, and Harry rocked back onto his heels. He wasn't sure if he wanted to let the matter drop. 

"Who was Regulus?" he asked. 

Sirius stiffened, almost knocking over the chair beside him. "Regulus." 

Innocently, Harry nodded. 

"The good son," Sirius snarled. "By their messed-up idea of 'good.'" 

"The one who sorted Slytherin," Harry said. 

"And went on to work for You-Know-Who," Sirius answered. "And got himself killed. He fell short, somehow. His precious _lord_ has no patience with servants who don't get the job done."

"Did you love him?" 

For a brief moment, Harry regretted the words. Sirius's eyes closed, and his face, for just an instant, crumpled. Then it tightened back to scorn. 

"We were enemies from the day of my Sorting." 

"That wasn't what I asked."

"You don't UNDERSTAND." 

"No, I don't." Harry flailed. "A brother! I would love-- I mean, any--" 

"Oh, Harry," Remus said softly. Harry thought he hadn't meant to. Harry stood still, trying to compose himself. His throat had closed up. 

"I couldn't allow it," Sirius said, his voice so broken that Harry regretted pushing. "It was a war." He looked down to where he was scraping the table with a fingernail. "Who told you about him?" 

"Mrs. Malfoy said she thought you had been close before."

"You were discussing _me_ with Narcissa?" 

"Of course not! We were talking about Andromeda." Harry looked away from his godfather's glare. "When I didn't recognize the name -- 'Regulus,' I mean -- she said, 'so you really _don't_ know him.'"

"Harry...." Sirius rubbed the back of his head, making a mess of his hair. "I can't-- There are things about me that you don't know, yeah. I mean, it's not like we've had a lot of time together, right? But you _do_ know me." 

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "I know."   
 

 

They walked along a narrow track, Snuffles romping in the shallow snow and occasionally pouncing forward to send a spray of it at Harry or Remus. It made Harry smile, despite the cold and his underlying anxiety about last night. His departure had been rude to three different people. He would probably never see Esmée again, or even Narcissa Malfoy, but Draco -- was Draco so angry that he wouldn't come back for Christmas?

In front of him, Remus stopped. Harry craned his neck to peer over the man's shoulder, until Remus turned, giving him a chance to see. Figures in Auror robes -- at least five of them -- clustered around the gate, which had something stuck on top of one of the spikes. Another Auror stood to one side, wand out.

"Go home, Snuffles," Remus said firmly. "Now. Quickly." 

The big black dog had set its feet stubbornly wide, to be hard to shift. Harry bent down to his ear. 

"Aurors. We'll be fine. You go." 

With a bark of assent -- did he need to do that? -- Sirius raced back the way they had come. The noise, of course, brought glances their way. Remus and Harry hurried down to close the gap before anyone came to meet them. 

However, no one did. The Auror standing out of the group watched them, but the rest turned away. Someone had brought a ladder -- or conjured it -- and was climbing up to the top of the gate. Now that they were closer, Harry could see that the object was something oval, and about the size of -- He stopped in his tracks. It was someone's _head_. 

"Good lord," Remus said, making the identification at about the same time. "I suppose they can't use magic to get it down; it will obscure curse traces." 

Moving far more slowly, they resumed their approach. The Auror on the ladder seemed to be having some trouble lifting the head from the gate. He finally got it free and came gingerly down the rungs, balancing with his elbows now that his hands were full. Hair swung with each jolting step, dripping blood. Harry felt a little better when the thing was hidden by the people examining it, but his heart was pounding and his stomach squirmed. Who had it been? Now that the question had made it though his revulsion, he wished he had looked more closely. The hair had been dark, he was sure, although the bright snow behind it had obscured detail. Had the dangling mass actually been _hair_ , or was it something internal? He felt his throat spasm and tried not to think about it.

Remus stopped just inside comfortable hailing distance. From here, Harry could see his count of five Aurors had been right, but Professor McGonagall was also there, on the far side of the gate. Her arms were joined by each hand tucked into the facing sleeve, as if she had not had time to find gloves. Or perhaps the position was to keep a hand on her wand. 

"Hello!" Remus called brightly. "May we go in?" 

The guarding Auror, a woman with brown braids, stepped forward. "Are you expected?" 

"Yes. I said I'd bring Harry back after breakfast," Remus replied easily, with a slight bow to McGonagall. "He was at a Christmas party, and the headmaster didn't want him traveling alone." 

The woman looked past Remus and directly at him. "Harry Potter!" she exclaimed. As one, the Aurors by the gate turned, and Harry could see now that one of them was Auror Shacklebolt, whom he had thought was too high-ranking for field work. Shacklebolt tucked a wide notebook under one arm and stepped forward. 

"I'll interview him," he said easily. "I need to give a report to the headmaster anyway, and you certainly don't need me breathing down your necks." He winced as the words came out. "So to speak." 

In a few paces, he was at Harry's side. "Mr. Potter. I'm afraid we need you to answer a few questions." 

"What?" The panic returned, churning in his stomach. "Was it someone I knew?"

"That is one of the things I would like to know. Don't worry -- you're certainly not a suspect." 

While Harry was puzzling that out, Shacklebolt turned to Remus. "Sir. I will see Mr. Potter safely inside, but this is an active investigation, and the school is closed to visitors." 

Remus appeared to be searching the man's face for something. Eventually, he nodded. "Let me know if you need anything, Harry," he said amiably. "I'll be in touch." He grinned. "Might give me a chance to find that crazy dog!" 

With that, he jogged off, and Shacklebolt gestured Harry toward a path of rumpled fabric that crossed over snow and mud through the open gate. "Walk on the silk only," he said, "and don't touch your wand. We're trying to preserve as much spell trace as possible." 

Harry nodded. The head hadn't belonged to someone that Shacklebolt knew he knew, he assured himself. From the hair, he had known it hadn't been Draco, or Ron, or Hermione, or Dumbledore, but he'd been worried it might have been Snape. Clearly he would know the teacher of a required subject, though. The slick fabric felt odd under his feet, and the dress shoes he had worn to the ball were designed to offer little traction. They were also soaked through from walking in the snow. He slipped when they reached the time-worn stones of the Entrance Hall, and had to catch himself on the wall. Shacklebolt took his arm. 

"Are you all right?" 

"Wet dress shoes," Harry said hastily, shrugging him off. "I left my boots at Malfoy Manor. May I cast a drying charm now?" 

"I'll do it." His drying and warming charms were not constrained to Harry's shoes, and Harry felt better after them. "And step in here." He ushered Harry into a small audience chamber next to the cloakroom, and set the fire going with a spell. "Brr. I've been standing in the wind by that gate for ages!" Nudging one of the armchairs closer to the fire, he gestured to the other. "Pull up a chair." 

He sat when Harry did, setting the notebook -- actually a folder, Harry saw now -- carefully on his lap, and then pulling off his gloves. "Now tell me -- Malfoy Manor? Why were you there?"

Harry had expected him to know. On the other hand, Tonks hadn't been with him as a work assignment, so maybe it made sense that he didn't. Like Snape, she had emphasized the need to keep the visit secret beforehand. "Narcissa Malfoy invited me to their Midwinter Ball. I think she wanted to meet her son's lover. Is this official?" 

Shacklebolt eyed him quizzically. "Not this part. How did that go?"

Harry shrugged. "Okay, I guess." 

"Yet you left without your boots." 

"Oh." Harry didn't want to admit he'd stormed out because of a fight with Draco. "Well, eventually someone attacked me. I Stupefied him and portkeyed out."

"To Remus Lupin?"

"Yes." Harry glared. "I trust him." 

"As do I," Shacklebolt answered, nodding slightly. "And you can trust me. I am not recording this, Harry, and I will edit appropriately. Remus let me know the dog was with him for a reason." With that, he opened his folder, and extracted a small stack of photographs. "However, here we move onto the investigation. I would appreciate your assistance. For each of these, please tell me if you know the person. Some, of course, will be obvious." 

Indeed, the top photo was of Voldemort, and the second of Narcissa. Harry didn't recognize the next man, and the woman after that was someone he thought might have been at the ball, but hadn't had any interaction with. The next one made him snort. 

" _That's_ Mr. Parkinson. He's the one who attacked me. I don't suppose I can press charges?"

Shacklebolt's eyebrows went up. "Were there witnesses?" he asked coolly. 

"Draco, and a French girl named Esmée Sinclair -- oh, and Snape, I suppose."

Shacklebolt blinked. "Tell me about this encounter. All details." 

Harry was sorry he'd said anything. He certainly didn't want to talk about Draco and Esmée with this serious senior Auror. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I don't really want to press charges."

"It was all in good fun?" Shacklebolt asked sarcastically. 

"It was a war thing, and if we talk about it in court, everyone will know _how_ I beat him, and while he's probably already told Voldemort, I don't want it being public knowledge that I can cast a wandless Stupefaction hex."

"You can--" Shacklebolt let out a harsh breath. Harry belatedly regretted the words. "Professor Dumbledore has not mentioned this." 

"Well, I didn't know I could manage _that_ one until last night, and I only started trying other spells a few weeks ago. Professor Dumbledore wasn't training me, so he only knew about it in general. We did talk about it though."

"I see." Shacklebolt rubbed his brow ridge. "Perhaps he would have mentioned it in time."

That was interesting. Shacklebolt expected to be informed of his abilities, apparently, but in this case had not been. And Dumbledore was secretive with established adult allies, not just Harry and his friends. Harry grinned. "If you like, I won't tell him that I told you. You can see how long it takes." 

There was a low rumble of amusement as Shacklebolt shook his head. "I'd rather convince myself it would have been at the next convenient time. I can't afford resentment; he's our most capable leader." He squared his shoulders. "And now -- your account of the attack, if you please?" 

"Is it relevant?" Harry shot back. 

"Perhaps," Shacklebolt returned. "I had certainly planned a visit to Malfoy Manor." 

Harry felt cold again. He could know any number of people that Shacklebolt would not expect him to. Gilbert, Linnet... He was suddenly aware that more people had dark hair than not. 

"Okay," he said, catching his breath. "I was walking in the garden -- just walking, so don't make anything of it -- with this French girl, Esmée --" 

"Did you meet her at the ball?" 

"No-- well, _yes_ , but I'd seen a picture of her before that. She's someone Draco's mother picked out as a potential wife for him. So, she said we should talk, and I think she also thought it might make him jealous." Harry stopped for a moment. He'd gone along with that, which felt stupid in retrospect. After he left, what had she told Draco? Maybe the point had been to make Draco distrust him. "And apparently it did, because he came through from another path and started shouting at me, and while we were arguing, she began to shriek, so I looked, and she was tangled in the branches -- they were actually wrapping around her arms, and before I could turn back my wand was pulled away by a Disarming hex, and Draco had been petrified, and Mr. Parkinson was standing there."

"You knew who he was?" 

"Yeah. He'd called me a 'mongrel' earlier in the evening, and Linnet went after him." 

"Linnet?" 

"Linnet Hanley." 

"A _Hanley_ at the Malfoy's?" 

Did everybody know the politics of society families better than he did? "She was Gilbert Clarke's guest." 

"Hm." His eyebrows rose. "That would be an interesting match." 

He _definitely_ needed to understand the society families better. Maybe he should check the library for more family books. "Just to get her in, I think. Draco wanted some people that I knew there. Though they do sometimes seem like a couple." 

"Interesting." Kingsley's teeth flashed in a brief smile. "But not, as you say, relevant. So -- You found yourself disarmed and facing Mr. Parkinson."

"Right. And he said what a great present I would be for 'someone' and how I shouldn't have come." 

"And your response was to try a wandless spell that you had not succeeded at before?" 

Harry shrugged. "I hadn't _attempted_ it before either. And I'm better when I don't think too much. Anyway, the Stupefaction hex hit him as he was moving forward, so he fell over. And Snape had apparently caught up, because curselight from _him_ went over Mr. Parkinson's head as he went down. I don't think it hit anything though."

"Color?" 

Harry considered. If the spell had been Dark, he didn't want to say anything too incriminating. On the other hand, there were only so many colors. "Orangish?" he hazarded. "Maybe more red. Not green, at any rate." 

"Ah. And was that the point at which you left?" 

"Roughly, yeah." 

"And _exactly_?"

"A few seconds later. Maybe as much as a minute? No, less. I mean, I exchanged words with Snape, you know, and, um, released Draco, and that was it." 

"Leaving an incapacitated enemy on the ground?"

"Well, Snape was there. And Draco could tell his mum. I expect he did." 

"It seems likely." 

For a moment, nothing was said. 

"It wasn't Snape, was it?" 

"Was what not Snape?" 

Harry swallowed. "The head." 

Shacklebolt studied him for a moment. "It was not Snape," he stated, reaching for the photos. "Though I should probably speak to him next -- or after the headmaster. I believe I should be on my way." 

"Can you tell me--?" 

"No." Shacklebolt's face softened. "Don't worry about it too much," he said, but as he reached over -- perhaps to pat Harry on the shoulder -- his folder fell, spilling out papers. With a cold hiss, a pale blue envelope shot out of the pile, rising into the air like a Howler. 

_"Harry Potter,"_ it said, with the icy voice of Voldemort at sport. A forked tongue flicked out from the paper. _"I wanted to share my latest amusement with someone. Who, I wondered, would be as delighted? You, of course. I had to leave his family with something to bury -- I am not without consideration -- but the head can be yours. Rest assured, he acted on his own. When I send someone against you, it won't be a fat fool who can't check for a reserve wand._

_"Happy Christmas, my destined kill."_

With that, the parchment slipped back into the envelope, which fell to the ground. 

Harry was pressed against the side of the chair. His stomach was churning and his throat tight. He tried to speak, but could not.

"I apologize," Shacklebolt said stiffly. "Such things have a way of delivering themselves." He took a quick breath. "I had considered trying to leave it with Carlson, but thought it would escape during the transfer. Here, at least it was private."

Harry finally managed to swallow. 

"Mr. Parkinson." 

"Yes." He sighed. "I would like you to keep this quiet." 

"That sick bastard acting like I'd want him to kill _anyone_? Yeah, me too." 

With a faint smile, Shacklebolt set a hand on his shoulder. "Good man, Harry," he said. "You're free to go. However, I suggest you stay within the walls of Hogwarts for now." 

 

Harry wandered within those walls, too shaken to choose a destination. He wanted Draco to hold him, or Hermione to be comforting, or Ron to make a joke ... maybe not that one. Eventually, he found himself outside a familiar door. He could visit the Quiris -- if what he had done with the curse on the chair had not contaminated him. He didn't think it had. 

Hesitantly, he opened the door. Tuktuk's golden fur shone in the light of the magical window, and she turned in the air as she jumped lightly down, ending with the tuft of her tail quivering above her maned face. She trilled querulously. With a moan of relief, Harry went inside. 

The Quiris didn't answer any of his questions, but they made it easier for him to answer his own. He owed Narcissa an apology for leaving her party without saying goodbye, or least the thanks that he should have given in person. He could write something and send it with Hedwig. He should also include a letter to Draco, suggesting a calmer discussion. If it turned out that Esmée hadn't lied about him, she was due an apology as well. 

_Dear Mrs. Malfoy_ , he composed in his mind, his fingers carding through Tuktuk's fur. Or should that be _Dear Narcissa_? He had never been quite sure if the familiarity was supposed to extend both ways. On the other hand, it probably wasn't ruder than departing abruptly from her garden, and both Sirius and Snape had left him thinking of her that way. _Dear Narcissa, thank you for your kind invitation to your home. I enjoyed the party--_ No. The time before the party had been more significant and personal. Lots of people had been invited to the ball. _I enjoyed getting to know you better, and the ball was lovely. I apologize for my abrupt departure, and--_ He paused. _I hope the Auror investigation is not too much of a nuisance._ Laughing softly, he erased the phrase from his imaginary letter. Though it might suit her sense of humor, at that. 

After settling on text for her and for Draco, he considered conjuring temporary parchment, but decided that calling Dobby to bring something more durable was safer -- he'd never got the hang of conjuration. Somehow, it felt more improbable than changing one thing into another. He was just folding the letter to Narcissa when the door creaked open. He looked up to see Headmaster Dumbledore stop, one foot over the threshold, his robes swinging on without him and then falling back.

"Hi," Harry said flatly.

"Harry. I had not expected to find you here." The headmaster's tone lightened and he moved forward. Cheefi bounded over to greet him. "I must admit that with Draco Malfoy away, I had not expected to find _anyone_ here."

Harry's hand tightened in Tuktuk's fur, although she hadn't shown any inclination to move from where she was draped over his lap. "I visit sometimes," he said boldly. "Hermione and Ron have been down too." 

"Really? I was not aware."

"Yeah," Harry said. "You apparently think I'm spending all my time on Dark Arts and drinking. I _did_ figure out that potion, you know." 

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up, but his voice was almost idle. " _You_ did?" he asked amiably. "Or was it Professor Snape?"

Harry shook his head. "Draco and Hermione did the actual isolation of ingredients." He stroked a hand down Tuktuk's silky fur. "I went to Snape when we already knew, though I pretended we didn't." 

"I see." Dumbledore sighed. "I believe we should continue this discussion in my office." 

Harry had expected denial, and hoped for an apology. He tensed. "Why? I'm annoyed as it is. I'll be angrier without a Quiri in my lap, you know." 

Dumbledore smiled down at Cheefi. "I am cognizant of the effect. However, there were reasons for what I did, and I will need my Pensieve to share them adequately. I'm afraid I would leave quite a mess in the corridors if I attempted to cart it down here." 

That was ridiculous, of course. A Pensieve could be moved empty, using magic, and the memory suspension potion added later, but it was equally true that it would be impractical here. Tuktuk and Cheefi would almost certainly want to touch it. It also made Harry curious.

"How could you possibly justify that?" 

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I invite you to come and see," he replied. "I _do_ respect your intelligence, Harry, whatever you might perceive." 

 

He also, it seemed, had the sense to not try to make conversation once they had left the room. After a long, silent march through the corridors, Harry stood in Dumbledore's office, watching the man draw a familiar Pensieve from an equally familiar tall cabinet. 

"The memories I will show you were left anonymously," Dumbledore said, as he tipped the contents of a vial into the stone basin. "However, I believe you will understand my concern upon viewing them." He extended a hand. "Please. Enter with me." 

Harry did not reach out. However, he leaned forward on his own, into the silvery mass. 

  


_The Slytherin Common Room was crowded, and the mood festive. People stilled in a wave, and Harry watched himself coming in behind it, with a purposeful stride that might be taken as arrogant. He stopped in front of Millicent -- was she really that much larger than him? -- and pulled a liquor bottle from his robes. They faced off uneasily, until Pansy Parkinson stepped in. She glared at him, thrusting a glass forward, and after an angry exchange between them -- seen, but not heard -- Harry watched himself take on an arrogant look and pull a small item from his pocket. He could just see the snake inside the orb. He held it out -- so casually! -- to Draco, who took it with a smirk, and lifted it into the air._

_Quite suddenly, he was entering the room again, Mill beside him. He dropped down beside Draco, on one of the sofas near the fire. Another jump, and people were shuddering, his face strange as he spoke. Behind the far sofa, Julian looked terrified and entranced._

_Smirking, Draco patted his thigh. "Darling. You would have fled in terror at my smile."_

_"Hexed you and turned you over to the headmaster, more like," Harry retorted, sounding amused. "Though, yeah. We never would have become friends if I'd seen you cast a curse like that beforehand."_

_"No familiarity with Dark Arts?" Victoria Nott said, her face pinched with disdain._

_"Are you mental?" Harry asked. He lifted a glass of amber liquor, a glass snake curling around the stem and between his fingers. Another snake -- live and golden -- was coiled in his lap. "Plenty, thanks -- but all of it before that from people who wanted to kill me."_

_Smirking, Blaise leaned forward to look past Millicent. "So, Harry," he called out, like an actor in a play, "have you ever done any Dark Arts?"_

_Harry watched himself try to glare, his scowl failing with a laugh. "You know I have. Git."_

_It was the same place, and mostly the same people, but clothes and positions had changed. Harry recognized the scene from the way Gilbert leaned forward, his normally complimentary interest just a little too intense. Harry felt his jaw clench while his past self talked on, the center of attention in the Slytherin Common Room. As in the first memory, there was no sound beyond a vague buzz._

_Draco exclaimed, one hand waving through the air, and Harry saw himself say something that made people squirm uncomfortably, but also laugh -- had Daphne really been hanging on his words with such fascination?_

_Pansy sniped at him, and Harry had to watch himself, his expression strangely scornful, draw his wand and run it over the hearth. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE glowed in a sickly orange on the dark stone._

The quick flash of his lightning bolt glowing on a dungeon wall -- the same color as Voldemort's real name -- let him know who had contributed these memories -- or at least that one. Nott had probably been watching from the corridor to the boys' dormitories.

_"He's up to something," Justin Finch-Fletchley complained. "Up and down the den staircase at odd hours, always with one or more of his Slytherins -- Malfoy, or that troll-girl flunky of his, usually. I think he threw that Quidditch game to pay them off."_

Harry found himself reemerging in the headmaster's office, pushing back his incongruously dry hair. He had no idea what to say. Had the lightning bolt seemed like Voldemort's name to Dumbledore? A sigil like the Dark Mark? "That's not-- That wasn't...." Dumbledore let him struggle. Bizarrely, it reminded him of Snape. He took a breath. "That's all out of context," he said evenly. "I mean, those chopped up little bits look bad, but there were other things going on."

Stroking his beard, Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Clearly, these short segments -- left for me anonymously, as I said -- were intended to paint you in a bad light." His visage darkened. "However, I can think of no context that would ameliorate writing Voldemort's true name in the Slytherin Common Room." 

"I was telling a story!" Harry protested. "I mean, yes, I got carried away -- I realized as soon as a saw it there -- but it was something that happened! They need to know what he's like!"

"Hm." Dumbledore sat back, stroking his beard. "Would you be willing to show me this ... context?" 

Harry took a long breath. Nott -- these had to be from Nott -- had managed to cut the memories off at strategic points, so he probably could as well. He set his shoulders back. "Sure. I haven't done this before. Is one at a time okay?" 

Dumbledore turned his head like a curious bird. "That would be fine." 

"Okay. Let me try with a short one -- this isn't all that important." 

 

Angrily, he started with Finch-Fletchley. He remembered Justin's open robes, and how he folded them over the possibly undressed girl. He'd commented to Millicent that Finch-Fletchley needed to find better places to snog, and she had laughed and fallen silent until they were away. He went over it twice, concentrating on her laugh as the end, and then extracted the memory into the waiting vessel. 

"There," he said. "Shall we check it out?" 

Dumbledore's considerable eyebrows rose into his hair. "I had thought to view it alone." 

"Oh, I'm curious. I have the impression the Pensieve shows things you didn't really know you saw." 

Dumbledore nodded. "Perceived, but not processed. Yes, that is one of the advantages of it. It is frequently more accurate than conscious memory. However," he continued mildly, "you are quite clever. I do not intend to give you the opportunity to verify your redactive skills." He waved toward the Pensieve. "The next one, if you please. You may watch them all with me when you are done."

Tom Riddle's name should be last, Harry decided. He concentrated on Millicent's party next. He started on the pitch, though that was a bit dangerous, to get in Mill saying "I'm not _fragile_ , Potter. I don't need your protection." 

He showed how had snarled at her, and a moment of her dismay, and cut it off. 

He resumed standing in the doorway of the crowded Slytherin Common Room, waiting for someone to notice him. He didn't try to avoid the bottle of liquor, but showed it as the peace offering it had been. Sniping with Pansy-- They were all of age. He didn't end it until Draco finished making his glass.

  


After that had been Blaise teasing him about Dark Arts. He skipped ahead to being called on that and talking about Control Spirit, ending as Draco kept him from talking about the casting. 

  


With that done, it was time to cover the matter of Voldemort's name, which was both the easiest -- he really had just been telling a story! -- and the hardest -- he was genuinely ashamed of the moment. He rolled it back to talking about finding Ginny's dying body, and moved it past when he had erased the words. "In an orphanage," he said. "So he could have _imagined_ he was a pureblood, and he probably did when he was sorted into Slytherin." 

That was the end of that. 

"Done, sir." 

"Context for all of them?"

"The important ones." He'd answer questions about the lightning bolt only if asked. It wasn't connected. That was just the color that was easiest for him. 

"Very well." The headmaster stood, again holding out a hand, as if Harry were an infant. "Come with me. It will be easier to converse if we enter in contact." 

 

Watching the memories was different from extracting them. Finch-Fletchley's girl was, indeed, partially undressed, her blouse undone, and almost all of one breast -- more than Harry had ever consciously seen first-hand -- exposed, although only for an instant. He hoped he hadn't got her in trouble. 

He had been afraid that his memory of Millicent would show some flaw in her glamour. It did not. However, he had forgotten how Draco had been holding Hugh Cecilius back, and he had not consciously noticed how Hugh looked contemptuous, and Draco rather fondly tolerant, as he berated Mill. Until, that was, his final proclamation hit home. Cecilius, derailed by confusion, ceased to strain forward, but Draco winced before a frown of calculation tightened his face. He was, no doubt, considering what protection Harry might be offering his larger and less threatened classmate. 

 

For a moment, Harry was spinning through chaos with Dumbledore, and then he was in the next memory, not yet walking through the Slytherin Common Room, but standing in the doorway, calling out to Mill, as Slytherins sneered or glowered -- or, he noticed now, merely stared in astonishment. He looked alone, but determined. Beside where he watched now, Dumbledore sighed. 

"It was clever," his memory self said boldly. "I'm sorry I lost my temper." Around him, eyes widened further, and jaws went slack. Dumbledore said "Ah," with an air of satisfaction, and past-Harry moved forward, his pace steady as he passed through the enemy throng. 

"I had to look confident," Harry whispered to his fellow viewer. 

"Indeed." 

They followed his former self through closing ranks of Slytherins -- sometimes literally through -- until they reached Draco, Millicent, and Blaise. Blaise gave Harry a quick nod that he hadn't appreciated at the time. Blaise had bet Draco that Harry would make up with Mill quickly. He had been showing confidence, and Harry had missed that in his dismay over Draco's lack of it. Millicent looked as hurt as he remembered. Her arms were locked tight across her substantial chest. 

"Look," his former self said resolutely, moving towards her, "I'm sorry I was an arse." He offered her the bottle of cognac. "For your party. It's still sealed." 

"What changed your mind?" Millicent demanded. Harry could see, now, that she had been asking why she should trust him again.

He gave his reasons, and she nodded slowly -- another thing he had missed, probably because of Pansy's arrival. He had forgotten that Mill hadn't taken the bottle until Pansy objected. Had the contrast to someone she didn't trust at all made him look more appealing as an ally? 

"Hush, dear. Thinking isn't your strong point."

Harry had known he had been furious. He hadn't seen how Millicent had relaxed at his snarl. 

"Poison isn't Gryffindor's style. On the other hand, I'm not sure I trust your glass."

"Swig it from the bottle, if you like." 

Now the marble came out. Harry had ignored Draco all that time, but now he looked over, and found him waiting. That was trust. "Draco. Make me a glass, would you, please?" 

Draco held the marble aloft, and Nott retreated. That would be why his memory ended here, Harry thought. His own continued. 

"Still carrying this little bauble, are you?" Draco said airily. "Shall I keep the snake motif?"

"As you like." 

"Hm." Draco set down the marble on the table. As it spun up into a snifter under his wand, Harry pointed at it, catching Dumbledore's attention. "The marble was the portkey Nott tried to take me with. After Snape was finished with it, he gave it back to me." 

As Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted, past-Draco gave a satisfied nod and turned. "Here you go, my love." 

 

Harry had ended it there. Again, the scene shifted, bent, and swept past in fragments, and then they were later in the same evening. He hadn't gone all the way back to Blaise's knowing taunt. It was Seymour the Not-Frog who leaned forward. 

"So, what sort of Dark Arts have you done?" 

Harry's past self looked more unsettled than had he expected as he checked Draco's response and wasn't able to read it. "Not something I want to talk about," he answered. This time around, Draco's theatrical sigh reminded him of Narcissa. 

"The one I taught you should be safe, Potter. The headmaster knows about it already, so no one can bear damaging tales." 

Harry looked uncertainly at Draco, but confidence covered his face like a mask as he turned back to Seymour. "Control Spirit. It allows you to give one command to a ghost. I used it to ensure Moaning Myrtle wouldn't tell about something she'd seen me and Draco do." 

The collective response was just as rude as he'd remembered.

"How's it cast?" Seymour asked. Harry got to see Draco's hand snap out, Seeker-fast, and cover his mouth. 

"No instruction," he commanded. "I'm Head Boy, and I won't have a load of ignorant lower years, with no concept of or respect for the Dark Arts, running around in the state you were in that night."

A little snort from Dumbledore might have been amusement or scorn, but the chaos was flying around them again, and Harry couldn't be sure. 

 

The last was the worst one. He started just a little after Nott had, with talking about finding Ginny's body. He was explaining how Tom Riddle, the student who had created the diary, used it to drain her life for his own use, and also control her actions. 

"So it was like the Imperius curse imbedded in a book?" Gilbert asked. "I didn't think you could do that."

" _More_ than the Imperius curse, because he made her speak Parseltongue, and that would be like making a Squib do magic. Really, she didn't open the door -- _he_ did it with her body."

"True possession," Gilbert breathed, and Harry didn't like it any better this time. He didn't dare look at Dumbledore, but that meant he saw Linnet kick Gilbert's ankle and glare at him, which he hadn't noticed the first time around. 

"Right. But by the time I got there, he'd taken enough of her life to start forming his old body -- the one he had at sixteen, when he wrote the diary."

Gilbert had cleared his throat and was speaking quite casually. "But you had a wand."

Harry's obvious embarrassment as he explained that he hadn't was rather amusing in retrospect, as was Draco's shocked response. 

"You never told me that! I assumed he was powerless. How did you ever survive?"

"Oh, you know how Voldemort is. He couldn't just curse me; he wanted drama. What good is a basilisk if you don't use it?" 

Beside him, Dumbledore choked. "Oh, my dear boy!" 

The laughter of the Slytherins had a touch of hysteria to it, as if he had said something dirty. Hugh hissed at Daphne, who was hanging on his words. Pansy ignored them to glare at Harry. 

"I thought this boy was a 'Tom Riddle.'"

"That's what he was called then. Voldemort was an ana-- al-- whatever you call those things where you rearrange the letters."

"Anagram?"

"Right, that!" The lost word had knocked him off-balance; he had forgotten that. He gathered his concentration -- that flash of scorn -- as he drew his wand. "He showed me his name like this." 

 

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

 

It could have been worse. Harry hazarded a look at Dumbledore, whose face was impassive, while his past self continued to talk. "Then he rearranged the letters -- I don't know how to do that -- to say 'I am Lord Voldemort'. Told me he wouldn't use the name of his Muggle father." 

"How dare you!" Pansy shrieked, but this time he heard Julian's "What?" and Blaise's soft "Ha!" He watched himself swallow as he stared at the glowing words. 

"I hadn't meant--" he tried, but Dumbledore motioned him to silence as Blaise shrugged. 

"Eh. It makes more sense the longer I think about it. The turd left his mother, you said?"

Past-Harry erased the glowing name with two sharp snaps of his wand. "Yeah. Who died. He didn't come to school knowing any of that, though, because he was Muggle-raised, like me." 

Draco raised his eyebrows. "By evil relatives?"

Harry snorted. "No. In an orphanage. So he could have _imagined_ he was a pureblood, and he probably did when he was sorted into Slytherin."

 

Green and black swirled around them and drained away, leaving the bright colors of the headmaster's office. 

For several breaths, Harry and Dumbledore sat in mutual silence. Fawkes chirped. 

"I have a few questions still," Dumbledore said. "First, why does Mr. Zabini know that you have done Dark Arts?" 

Harry bit his lip. "We've shared secrets," he said. "That's one." 

"He does your trust little honor, to break it so publicly." 

Harry shrugged. "He did it to help, I'm sure."

"Perhaps. However, I would advise against gaining status by appearing to be dangerous. Your godfather knows one of the drawbacks quite intimately, I believe." 

Harry had not thought about it that way. He wanted to protest that people always believed whatever they wanted of him, but wasn't the point of this year to change that? "I know that," he said instead. "I mean, I've realized it. I did make that mistake last year, but I've been trying to be careful, this time."

"Is Mr. Malfoy aware of this? His reference to your relatives..." 

"We can't ignore it. They _will_ wonder. I pointed out that I let them alone." 

"I am glad to hear it." Dumbledore gestured at the Pensieve. "I suggest retrieving your memories. Thank you for sharing them with me, Harry; I am more reassured than I expected."

Anger spiked hot in Harry as he stood. He forced himself to put back his memories before speaking, afraid that he might otherwise storm out without them. 

"Last year," he said, turning back and lifting his chin, "you recommended I study persuading and inspiring people, rather than resorting to compelling them. You should follow your own advice." 

Dumbledore peered over his glasses. "I did not curse you." 

"No. You lied to me and tried to drug me with potentially harmful substances rather than asking for an explanation." 

"As you volunteered nothing, I wanted to observe you for a little longer."

"Observing is fine. Giving me doxy eggs is not."

"It was a means to determine if my concern was warranted, and I gave you a warning that should have been sufficient if it was not. Quite honestly, I was more concerned about the Dark Arts." 

"That's no excuse! You lied to me, and you endangered a bunch of kids who _should_ be able to trust you and weren't even involved, and you broke Julian's ankle."

A flicker of tension on Dumbledore's face disappeared with a wave of his hand. "It was more severe an injury than I expected, but I would not have let any real harm come to them."

"You attacked them on a staircase! What if he'd hit his head?" 

"Harry. I am an accomplished duelist and master of the castle. I would not have allowed it." Dumbledore forced a smile. "Had one started to fall that way, the stairs would have been cushioned. And they are Slytherins, you know! They would not be as indignant as you at the thought of being used in someone else's plots." 

"You're wrong." 

"Harry...."

"Draco was _furious_."

"Your influence, I expect."

" _No._ I don't think you understand them at all. I spend far more time with them." 

"I know Severus Snape quite well." 

"He's hardly the only type of person in Slytherin. You wouldn't expect me to react like Professor McGonagall, would you? Or Neville or Lavender to react like me?"

Dumbledore hesitated, but then smiled fondly. "No. You will always be the first to confront perceived unfairness. I understand your objections, Harry, and I apologize for interfering. Should I hear further accusations, I promise I will speak to you directly. Now, I'm afraid I must cut this debate short; there is a meeting at the Ministry about this morning's events. I had gone to the Quiris to contemplate the matter with a minimum of agitation."

With a glare to show he was not mollified, Harry nodded curtly and left. Before the door shut, he heard the Floo flare behind him. 

 

Back in the corridor, he found himself in no mood to return to the Quiris. He went up to the Owlery instead, stopping at a window seat to dash off a quick note to Draco, saying only that there was too much to talk about in a letter. _Please say you'll come back here, as you promised._ He folded it before he could think himself into uncertainty, sealed both letters with the utilitarian wax left by the Owlery door, and sent them off with Hedwig, with instructions to let each of the Malfoys take their own letter only. 

That done, he decided to return to Gryffindor. Maybe someone else would be there. He was starting to feel like he was the only person left in the entire castle. 

Gryffindor helped. Sajid was there, as was a fourth-year girl, Helen Higgleton. They didn't have much in common, but when Harry suggested a game of Parcheesi, Sajid was delighted and Helen intrigued. Harry transfigured a cushion into a board, but didn't get the markings quite right, so he and Sajid drew one out on paper, and then Harry turned it to wood, to make it more stable. They used Helen's Rune tiles for markers.

The game lasted until dinner, and they all went down together. Descending the staircase, they speculated as to whether the board would last the week or need to be remade. In the Great Hall, they settled at the large, oval table that replaced all the others. Harry counted twenty seats, but many were empty. Professor Sprout was the only faculty member present. Harry nodded to Seymour and Ruthven from Slytherin, and waved at Callie Somers, a Hufflepuff third-year who had come to the Mixed-House space with Gloria a few times. Sophia hurried in at the last moment with Jeremy Goldsmith, a seventh-year Ravenclaw boy, and two younger Ravenclaws. All of them had at least one book. Hagrid entered at the heels of Professor Snape, who seemed to be trying to ignore him. 

"A terrible thing, Professor," Hagrid said. "I saw it mysel' -- I was jus' startin' up to the castle when--" Catching sight of Harry, he broke off the account. "Are you all righ', Harry?"

"I'm fine, Hagrid." Harry looked Snape in the eyes. "And you, sir?" 

A contemptuous sniff and an eye-roll was his only response. Snape tugged a corner chair a little further from the others and sat down. 

"The headmaster will not attend tonight," he announced. "You may begin." 

Perhaps the House Elves had been waiting for that pronouncement. At any rate, steaming dishes appeared on cue, and everyone began to spoon things onto their plates. Harry couldn't touch the stewed mutton, with its stringy strands of meat, but he managed the potatoes and carrots that had been cooked with it. 

The dinner plates had just disappeared, and everyone was looking around for puddings, when the owls arrived. Two flew straight to Harry. One was the Malfoy's eagle owl, although Harry thought it too soon to be a reply. The other was an unfamiliar barn owl, bearing a red envelope. Harry lurched to his feet as the missive skidded across his napkin. At his touch, it exploded open. 

I HATE YOU, POTTER! IF YOU WEREN'T AN ORPHAN ALREADY, I'D ARRANGE IT, YOU VILE, DIRTY, HALF-BLOOD _MONSTER_. I HOLD YOU RESPONSIBLE. I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DID, BUT IT _WAS_ YOU, AND I WILL _DESTROY_ YOU. 

Pansy's scream ended with a choked sob that struck Harry harder than the threats. He shook his head. 

"It wasn't my fault," he said, to no one in particular. "It _wasn't_." 

"On the contrary, Potter," Snape said tightly. "You failed to go docilely to your execution."

"Of course I did!" 

"Exactly." Tapping his own letters together, Snape rose. "She is grieving. I will speak to her."

Harry sat dumbly while Snape walked away. 

"What was that about?" Seymour asked. "That was Parkinson, right?" 

"Yeah." Harry stood. "Voldemort killed her dad, because he didn't manage to kidnap me. He does that sort of thing." Still clutching his other letter, he fled, going back to Gryffindor, and all the way up the tower to his own dormitory, where Sajid and Helen wouldn't follow. He didn't like Pansy in the slightest, but her grief _hurt_. The memory of Voldemort's message made him feel dirty, as if she had been harmed for him. 

He lay a long time in bed, letting his heartbeat settle, and telling himself, again and again, that he had not killed Pansy's father. He wondered if he should worry about her threats; he had the feeling she would be a more effective enemy than Nott. Finally, he felt the crumpled letter still in his hand and brought it closer. It was from Draco. Sitting up, he cautiously eased it open. 

  


_Dear Harry,_

_I expect that I will hear from you before you receive this, but I do not want to delay. I apologize for my behavior last night. It was unfair to arrange for you to enjoy the evening, but then be angry when you did so. Esmée has told me that nothing happened between you -- beyond what she described as a 'fraternal' kiss -- and that I fell into her trap to accuse._

_There is no need for a reply, if your owl is out. If you accept my apology, all is well; if not, we will fight it out in person when I arrive tomorrow. Go to our clubhouse after breakfast, and I will join you there._

_Lovingly,_

_Draco_

  


The letter was some comfort, but Harry still did not return to the Common Room for company and Parcheesi, and he slept uneasily, with nightmares of people swinging heads like lanterns as they searched the Malfoy gardens for bodies. In the morning, he went to breakfast early, and had eaten the small amount he could manage by the time the _Prophet_ showed up, reporting the ghastly death of respected businessman Howell Aldous Parkinson (survived by his wife, daughter, and infant son). The article made no mention of Harry, but also no mention of Voldemort. Harry's breakfast was turning uncomfortably in his gut as he went down to the Chamber of Secrets to wait. 

 


	42. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone told me in a comment that chapter 35 was missing. I checked back and found it still in draft mode. If you'd been thinking the jump from Susara and Harry being hurt fighting with Ron to group potion analysis was a bit _abrupt_ , that would be why. Actually, considering I didn't get a flood of 'huh?', I might have accidentally put it back in draft mode at some later point.

Reunion

 

Harry couldn't concentrate enough for schoolwork. Even his Defense Against the Dark Arts reading, which he had thought fascinating while telling Narcissa about it, blurred into disconnected phrases. After an hour, he gave up and pulled out his notes on the Death Eaters and other Voldemort supporters, adding his own observations from the Malfoy ball. When he came to Mr. Parkinson's name, he put a line through it. That left him staring at the parchment, feeling sick again. He created a new section, "Supporters killed by V." and put under it "Howell Parkinson" and "Regulus Black." He would need to ask Snape if Mr. Parkinson had actually been a Death Eater. 

It was a relief to hear the door creak open. He turned as Draco came into sight. 

"Hello," Draco said tentatively, as he drew near. "I got your owl." He slipped in next to Harry on the plastic sofa. The fur was wearing thin, but there was still enough to keep the cushions from being tacky. "Are you angry?"

Harry found he couldn't say he wasn't. "A little," he admitted. "Are you?" 

Draco's nose wrinkled. "Whatever for?" 

"I stormed off in the middle of your party! I left you with an unconscious guest and Esmée still trapped by the bushes!" Harry ducked his head. "Does she hate me?" 

"Hardly," Draco said dryly. "She scolded me for unilateral possessiveness and lack of manners and subtlety, and said I absolutely wouldn't do for marriage. I told her the last judgment was mutual."

"I rather liked her." 

Draco nodded. "I do as well, I believe. But she's far too opinionated for a wife." 

"What?" Harry struggled for words. "She's a _person_ , Draco! People have opinions." 

"Yet many are not opinionated, as odd as that may seem to you."

"You want someone who doesn't care about anything?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Everyone cares about something, I'll give you that." He sighed. "I want someone who agrees with me on a few basic goals, and otherwise cares nothing about my life." 

"Right." Harry felt his throat tighten. "Then why would she marry you? For money?" 

"Exactly." Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "Or for my name. Those _are_ the things I have to offer, as I will not be a romantic match. I may suggest Mother look at some poorer girls. They should be more biddable." 

"Like _Ginny_?" Harry asked, his eyebrows rising.

Draco winced. "There are exceptions, of course." He frowned. "Perhaps someone who needs to escape overbearing parents? Ginny loves her family; that may make her situation more bearable." 

"I don't get why you're doing this," Harry said quickly. "I mean, I know you think it's your duty, but you're just making yourself miserable, and making me miserable, and looking for a girl dull enough not to be miserable along with us." 

Draco took a long, audible breath. "She doesn't need to be dull," he said firmly. "She just needs to want something I can give her. Children, even. She could be someone like me. I don't want another lover, Harry. I just want to have children." 

"No, you don't _just_ want to have children. You want to have pureblood children in some socially acceptable manner. You could have kids without all of this crap!" 

"I will NOT do that to _my children_!"

Harry's eyes closed. Draco might be right -- about that part. Growing up as a bastard would be hard in the Muggle world, and he could imagine it as unendurable, in a society where even someone like Auror Kingsley talked about "a Hanley, at the Malfoys'." He took a quick breath and looked at the world again. Here, it was mostly masses of grey stone. "Let's go flying."

"What?" 

"I need to do something, and you were probably cooped up all of yesterday. Get your broom, and I'll meet you on the pitch." 

 

The snow was lower and harder than the day before, but the sun was bright, and the air still, if cold. Harry mounted his broom as soon as he was clear of the castle, and soared up and out over the grounds. He was halfway to the pitch when Draco passed him, his robes snapping as he cut around Harry in a blur of speed. With a shout, Harry raced after him. 

Flying -- or rather, playing -- was just the thing. Draco had brought a practice Snitch, and cast a charm on it that impaired hiding. It maneuvered just as evasively as in games, however, and kept them chasing and dodging for many rounds. 

After one particular dive, in which they had swept past each other coming from opposite directions, looped back in mirror arcs and crossed again, Harry had laughed that they couldn't do that again if they tried, and Draco argued that _he_ certainly could. Leaving the Snitch in Harry's pocket, they began to attempt synchronized maneuvers, turning the flight into what felt like a grand, aerial dance. 

Finally, exhausted, they landed in the largest goal ring and teetered there, clinging together. 

"I'm so glad you're back," Harry said. 

"I'll need to leave tomorrow." Draco flicked his hand to the side as Harry stared at him. "Just for the day. And the night, maybe. I need to be at the funeral for Pansy."

"Oh." Unfortunately, that made sense.

"I'll be back," Draco protested. "There's no reason to look like that." 

Harry wasn't sure how he had looked. "She's burying her father two days before Christmas."

Draco sunk back, clutching his side of the ring. "Yes. Trust you to notice." 

Harry decided not to mention the Howler. Draco probably had enough complications to deal with. "Will you be safe?" he asked. Perhaps he ought to mention it after all. "Pansy blamed me for it. Someone there might blame you and your mother."

Draco's nose wrinkled. "Why on earth would she blame you? But yes, Auror Shacklebolt said there will be a heavy Auror presence, considering. Mother would not hear of not attending." He looked idly out over the space below them. "I might send an owl to Tonks, on my own. She--" He tensed, his hand going to his wand. "Someone's -- Oh. It's McGonagall." 

Harry followed his gaze and saw his head of house sitting in the stands, her wand out and laid across her lap. She was nearly invisible against the dark drapes that lined the staff box once the colorful banners had been packed away, only the pale oval of her face plain in the shadow. "Should we go over?"

"Probably." Draco glanced over at him. "Were you supposed to stay in?"

"Shacklebolt recommended it." With a shrug, Harry dismissed the statement. "No one said I _had_ to." Though if she called him on it, he couldn't say they had been careful. He should have seen someone climbing the stairs to the box. 

Draco sighed. "I think I saw Severus earlier, but just that black swirl of robes as he turned his back. I didn't think to look for anyone else." 

They flew over to McGonagall, stopping at a hover in front of her. 

"Hello, Professor," Harry said brightly. "Should we come in now?" 

With a curt nod, she stood. "If you wouldn't mind. My warming charms are wearing thin." 

"Do we need watching?" Draco asked innocently. 

Her eyebrows rose. "Considering the threats to Harry from You-Know-Who and your classmate, and the potential for threats to you from hosting him, Professor Snape and I thought it best. He alerted me when he realized you were out on the grounds, and we met here." 

"To take turns watching?" Harry asked. 

"Hardly," McGonagall sniffed. "He had intended to order you inside. I thought you might need the activity -- especially you, Harry -- and offered to watch instead." 

"Oh." Harry was mildly embarrassed, especially considering how they had been _dancing_ earlier. "Thank you then. We did need it, but we can be done now." 

She nodded. "I will escort you back to the castle. If you wish to come out again, please get a staff member to accompany you. I know you are adults, but you tend to get preoccupied with each other, and if you are murdered on school property, it will reflect badly on Hogwarts."

She swept off down the stairs. As Harry drifted down to the ground, Draco muttered: "Gryffindor arguments!"

"So?" 

"Apparently 'you'd be dead' isn't sufficient deterrent." 

 

Harry spent the night in Slytherin, avoiding Ruthven and Seymour, and in the morning, Draco left early, flooing out of Snape's grate to Malfoy Manor. Harry continued up to breakfast alone. Draco's departure, and the reason for it, quite spoiled his contentment from the night before, and he found himself pushing his egg around on his plate until it was an unappealing congealed mass. With an apologetic glance at his fellow diners, he abandoned it and headed out, planning to go up to the tower and change his clothes. However, at the base of the grand staircase, he met Dumbledore coming down. 

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Potter! I had been hoping to catch you at breakfast. Would you accompany me to the Quiris' room to talk?" 

General dissatisfaction blossomed into irritation at the question. Harry scowled. "No, I will not!" he snapped. "Believe you can trust me or don't."

His eyebrows rising, Dumbledore drew back. "I had simply thought it would be a more comfortable place than my office. There is no need for you to take offense."

"Really?" Harry stepped into the space left by the headmaster's retreat. "You have not dealt in good faith with me. You've tricked me, and _lied_ to me."

"My dear boy. You are making too much of a single incident." 

"Single?" A simmering anger that Harry had hardly been aware of bloomed at the word. "You didn't do _anything_ that you promised last spring until I came after you about it, and then I got less than half of _one_."

"Half?" Dumbledore looked puzzled. "I provided inter-house space--"

"But _not_ in the evening, and not supervised by students."

Dumbledore studied him for several seconds of silence. "You are not entitled to special accommodations."

"But you used agreeing to them to put us off." 

"It was not my intent to bargain for your good behavior. I will not." 

"And I want it clear that if I behave, it's not for _you_."

Dumbledore glared past Harry's shoulder, and a sudden clatter of shoes turned Harry around in time to see Seymour and Ruthven disappearing down the dungeon stairs. 

"And _that_ is why I desire more privacy." 

Dumbledore's dry comment broke the mood, somewhat. Harry snorted. "Oh, they didn't listen for long. They're probably as afraid of me as of you."

"Really? Why, pray tell, would those boys be afraid of either of us?"

"Well, you because you're hard on Slytherins, and me because I didn't turn them into frogs."

Frowning, Dumbledore faced him squarely. "Did you threaten them? If so, I want it clear that I would not permit that because they are Slytherins." 

"No. Well, not really. They were arguing with Professor Horsyr, last spring, about will and desire being the same thing, while Draco and I were waiting to talk to her -- and waiting, and waiting -- and I eventually said the difference was that they weren't frogs yet."

Dumbledore laughed outright. "I do believe she told me that story, but I had forgotten. Now, I still have a matter to discuss with you in private." He inclined his head. "Where would you like to do so?" 

"Your office, sir," Harry said, pleased to be offered a choice. More significantly, the headmaster did not argue the point. 

"Very well."

During the walk, Harry began to feel slightly embarrassed about his response. It hadn't been wrong, exactly, but it had been out of proportion. While Dumbledore was opening the door to his office, he decided to say something. 

"I'm sorry about how I reacted earlier, sir. I mean, I meant what I said, but I wouldn't be that, um, _loud_ about it if it wasn't for everything else." 

Dumbledore's beard twitched with a slight smile. "I believe the word you are looking for, Harry, is 'vehement.' You were not actually all that loud. Do you really think of the Quiris as a means to check on you?" 

"Yes." 

"I might consider that paranoid," Dumbledore said mildly, as he pulled a chair closer to the fire.

"You _might_ consider that is how I first met them." 

Dumbledore's head came up sharply. For a moment, he was silent. Finally, he sighed. "True. It was not my intent to create that association. I had grown used to them; they happened to be close at a time when I was alarmed. Do sit, Harry." 

Harry sat. The arrangement was oddly social. It made him think of the first stiff interactions with Narcissa. The headmaster, however, had not distracted him with a cursed chair. Dumbledore seemed equally at a loss. 

"Maybe this would work better with you behind your desk." 

Dumbledore chuckled. "It would be more familiar, perhaps. However, I'm afraid I must speak to you more as a peer, in this." 

"Afraid?" It seemed like an odd word to use. 

"Exactly. You have only one term left here, Harry, and your short excursion showed the dangers of departure. However, you are not yet mature enough for the role of professor, and I will not offer you even the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."

"I wouldn't expect it! Besides, it would only gain me a year." 

"Exactly." 

Startled, Harry straightened in the chair. "It really is cursed, then?"

"Yes. I have not been able to keep a Defense professor for more than one year since I refused to hire a certain Tom Riddle." 

Harry shuddered. "Good you did! That would be worse than Crouch. Hm. May this information make it to the Slytherin Common Room? It makes you seem less -- um, whatever -- and him more of a hindrance." 

"I would not be adverse to that." Dumbledore winked. "And I believe the word you are looking for is 'inept.' I do understand the perception, sadly. But back to plans for June. You may, of course, remain here in a minor staff position -- assistant to Hagrid, or some such -- for as long as necessary. I confess to having little confidence that you would stay safely on the grounds, but even a place to retreat to can have significant value."

"I wish you'd offered me that some earlier summer." 

"You needed to return home to your Aunt's house, Harry, to renew the wards."

"Which only mattered because I was there! With people who hated me! Some summers I couldn't even do my homework -- Uncle Vernon locked away all my school things, one year, including my books and wand, and I was never able to get supplies or books or anything. Here, I could have been learning something useful, and have been more ready now." 

Dumbledore at least looked angry at the mention of Harry's uncle. "I had not realized you were impeded in your work there," he said levelly. "I am not sure more study would have been productive when you were younger and less inclined to pursue long-term goals, but that doubtless made routine assignments more difficult for you than necessary." He paused. "However, Kingsley informs me that you can now manage a wandless Stupefaction Hex." 

Reluctantly, Harry nodded. The matter of the Dursleys was a dead horse. "If properly inspired, yeah." 

"Professor Snape had not mentioned this." 

Harry wondered if Dumbledore was just checking on what he had told Shacklebolt, or if the Auror had withheld that information. Perhaps the reticence Shacklebolt complained of now went both ways. "We hadn't tried it before. Did Snape tell you anything after the ball?"

"He has not yet made a report in person; indeed, he has scarcely been present. The death of Mr. Parkinson has left us both rather busy, and in different ways. However, that is not a matter for you. More to the point, I am encouraged that your skill is growing to accommodate your power." 

"Um, thanks?" 

"You may not want to thank me. If you stay here this summer, Harry, you will not be a student, and I will no longer be able to deny you the role of warrior for the Light." 

Harry sat bolt upright. "Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed. 

"I am due no thanks, Harry, to risk your life as I do others." 

"There is something happening, then?" Harry said eagerly. "Something organized? Snape has hinted, and both of you will tell me particular people can be trusted...." Vague images of heroic missions swirled through his head. He could slip into the house with his invisibility cloak on, and repel the Death Eaters at the kitchen door....

"Yes, there are many things happening, and there are many people involved at some level or another, and others who are not active, but are trusted allies." Harry refocused on where he was now. Dumbledore had pointed his wand at the fire, and was pulling little swirls of color up the flames. It reminded Harry of the way that Parvati sometimes drew vines and flowers in her diary while she was talking. "I realize that is vague. You will be given more specifics as the term approaches its close. This--" he looked sharply at Harry -- "is _not_ to come out in the Slytherin Common Room or even the Gryffindor one, no matter how much you may wish to impress." 

"Understood, sir." 

"Good." Dumbledore returned his gaze to the fire, twisting a purple flame into a white one, seemingly lost in thought. They turned to red and gold, and he focused again on Harry. "Now, while I cannot offer my allies the same protections I provide my students, I strive to guard both at Hogwarts, and you are a student still. I heard about Miss Parkinson's threat against you. Indeed, Hagrid was kind enough to allow me to view his memory of the event. Would you like her expelled?" 

For a moment, Harry was stunned into silence. He drew a breath. "You can't expel her! Her father was just _killed!_ You let Nott stay!" 

"Mr. Nott did not threaten to 'destroy' you."

"No, he actually _tried_ to."

The old man's brow furrowed. "My understanding was that he had been used in someone else's plot."

Harry shrugged. "No idea. He's not as clever as Pansy, at least." 

"Yet you are willing to risk her presence? Consider carefully, Harry. I will not offer again." 

"I'm not about to change my mind," Harry said firmly. 

"As you wish. However, I would recommend you avoid being in her presence unnecessarily." 

Harry shrugged. "I'd rather have her in front of me than behind, honestly." 

"Ah. Yes, I can see the value in that." He hesitated. "Have you anything to tell me about Mr. Nott?" 

"He shoved a Portkey down my shirt, that's all. I thought Professor Snape had told you." 

"Hm." Dumbledore considered. "He had, but in the manner of 'incompetent boy; I will handle matters'. I am not sure I fully considered the repercussions, among other things that were happening at the time. I will have a little talk with him, I believe." He raised his eyebrows. "You have no objection to that, I would hope?"

"None." 

 

At lunch, Harry was quite hungry. He supposed it was due to the lack of food at breakfast. He ate slowly, as there was nothing else to do, and tried to enjoy the Christmas decorations. Unfortunately, that meant trying not to wonder if the Parkinsons had taken theirs down. 

While he was reaching for a tart, a school owl landed by his fork. 

 

_Mr. Potter,_

_Meet me in my office, as soon as possible._

_Professor Snape._

 

Harry did not quite run -- at least, not until he was out of sight around the first curve of the dungeon staircase. Then, he practically flew, using a hold on the inner rail to take great leaps down, whipping around the curves and touching one in every three or four steps. He nearly crashed at the first landing, which broke his rhythm and twisted his body over foot and ankle, causing a burst of pain. On the first dungeon level, he lurched down the hallway in a triple-speed limp. Grabbing the open door jamb, he swung himself around and into the office.

"Mr. Potter?" 

"What's wrong?" Harry gasped out. 

Snape, to Harry's irritation and relief, rolled his eyes. "Nothing is wrong, Potter; I merely thought we had limited time. Are you hurt?" 

Harry sunk back. "Twisted my ankle." 

"Idiot boy. Sit down." 

Snape thumped a stack of books down in front of Harry's chair and had him put his foot up on it. After a few diagnostic charms, he stalked off, still muttering, to get potions. All tasted -- or smelled -- foul, but that was now reassuring, and the liniment he smoothed along the lines of Harry's ankle provided instant relief. 

"There. Now, you will stay precisely there until we have finished, so the Tendon-mend has time to work." He smirked. "It will be a much needed lesson for you, considering your usual active style of magic use." 

"More wandless magic?" Harry wasn't sure about doing that while staying still, but that reaction made him understand what Snape meant. If he had been the one petrified, would he still have been able to cast? 

"Merely Lumos." 

"Lumos?" Harry repeated incredulously. "You saw what I did, right?" 

Snape sneered at him before replying. "I am not blind and deaf, Potter. Yes, I saw. However, your _exceptional_ ability is reputed to be using the Dark Lord's power against him. I would like you to practice awareness of another's power. Because I bear his Mark, you may even be able to make some use of mine through that." He crossed his arms, drawing his robes in. " _With_ your wand, you will cast and maintain a Lumos, and try to intensify it when I cast -- not with your own power, but with that of my casting." 

"I'm not sure I can work with anything Dark." 

"Dear Merlin, Harry, don't get squeamish on me now!"

"It's not -- I have an appointment to show the Quiris to Lupin, if you'll remember, and I'll have to go see them again with Hermione, when she gets back." Harry was taken aback by the sudden use of his given name. 

"Her price for forgiving you?" 

"She'd have _forgiven_ me anyway. Her price for not telling." 

"Of course." Snape pinched his prominent nose and sighed. "Very well. You will make use of neutral magic. However, at the end, I will cast a few Dark curses for you to observe." 

Biting his lip, Harry nodded. "Agreed." 

 

The exercise was difficult. Harry could perceive Snape's magic readily enough. It shivered in the air like ozone after lightning. Accessing it was another matter entirely. After five unsuccessful attempts, he said that he didn't think the Dark Mark was connection enough. 

With a snarl, Snape pulled off his robes and rolled up his left sleeve, and cast something that made the air crackle. Harry grabbed it and shoved it into his Lumos, flaring the light before realizing what Snape had done; covering the low ceiling was a distorted Dark Mark. 

"Hey!" 

"Dark though the sentiment may be, the magical energy is essentially neutral," Snape said archly, as he lowered his wand and brushed a stray thread off his trousers. "Mind you, the Dark Lord may notice that this -- a spell of his devising -- has been cast, but he will not know what to make of it when no reports of destruction follow. Now that we have proved the theory, let us continue." 

In that way, it was rather like the chicken. Now that Harry had the idea -- and knew the feat was possible -- the milder spells were closer to being in reach. He managed two out of the next five. 

"That will be all for today," Snape announced. "Put your wand away, and observe." 

To Harry's dismay, the energy from the Bone-Burning curse (cast on some sort of preserved fish that Snape dumped out of one of his jars) shivered at the tips of his fingers, as even Morsmordre had not. 

"Could you use _that,_ Potter?" 

"Yes." Harry swallowed. "Easily."

Snape's dark wand glinted like steel in firelight as he cast another curse.

 

Two curses later, Harry was wondering if he dared suggest they stop for the day when one of the jars on a shelf by Snape's desk began to pulse with a strange, blue light. Snape's robes flicked up several inches as he whipped about to stare at it. 

"What--?"

"My rooms, now!" 

Ankle forgotten, Harry leapt to his feet. Snape was already opening a hidden door behind his desk. They came out in his classroom, and cut from there down a short hallway to his quarters. The gargoyle knocker glowered at Harry, but the door swung easily in. Draco was standing irresolutely by the Floo, the powder box in his hand. 

"Draco!" two voices shouted, and Draco turned quickly.

"I was attacked! Tonks sent me through--"

"So you would return?" 

"Mother-- I didn't see-- I need to get to her!"

"Draco!" Snape rebuked, snatching the Floo powder from him. "Collect yourself! A useful account, if you would?" 

Draco sank back, eyes closing. After a moment, he took a deep breath, straightened, and then looked evenly at his head of house. "The service had finished," he said, "and as there had been no open wake, the family was receiving condolences before departing for the private burial. Mother, ahead of me, had just reached Mrs. Parkinson. A red curse came in from the side -- one of the Avery cousins, I think -- straight at me. One of the acolytes threw a shield spell -- 'he' turned out to be Tonks -- and then apparated me away. We went somewhere -- her flat, I think -- for a moment or two. She said Mother had a guard as well, but that she needed to get back, and tossed me in the Floo to here." He blinked, and his brow furrowed. "How does she know your address?" 

"We have worked together," Snape answered unhelpfully. "You must stay here, Draco. Whether your mother is safe or not, she will no longer be at the church. I will check on her condition." 

"How?" 

"I have contacts in several places." 

Harry didn't think he would have stood for that himself, but perhaps Draco would. He seemed to be wavering. Behind him, the fire flared.

"Mr. Malfoy?" 

Snape snarled at the grate. "This is not a public station, Kingsley." 

"Good afternoon, Severus. Is young Mr. Mal-"

"I'm here." Draco pushed in beside Snape. 

"Excellent. Nymphadora requested that I inform you that your mother is unharmed. However, she is now at Auror headquarters providing a description of the attack, so don't expect a response at home for a few hours."

Draco's shoulders settled in relief. "That's something. And everyone else?" 

Kingsley looked curiously at him. "Several injuries, no deaths, and two arrests." 

"Good." Swallowing, Draco drew himself up, in a single motion changing from frightened boy to dignified aristocrat. "Thank you for informing me, Auror Shacklebolt, and please convey my appreciation for the effective protection from Auror Tonks."

"Wouldn't you rather do that yourself?" 

"Oh, I intend to -- but that will be my personal thanks to my cousin. I want my official consideration noted."

"Ah." Kingsley nodded. "Understood, Mr. Malfoy. If you send a letter to me, I will see that it is added to her file."

"Expect my owl tomorrow." 

The moment the flames subsided, Draco fell into Harry's arms, his face against his collar. In seconds, he was sobbing. 

"It's all right," Harry soothed, awkwardly aware of Snape's unsympathetic presence. "It's okay now." 

"I could have died! Pansy wouldn't even look at me, and I was trying to catch her hand, and not paying any attention-- We were in a crowd! You can't fire off curses like that at a group of wizards and witches -- I mean, not if you care about any of them."

"The Dark Lord does not care," Snape said coldly. "I thought that had finally got through to you." 

"But the Averys!" Draco ignored that his face was streaked with tears as he raised it to glare at Snape. He rubbed his sleeve across his nose like a child. "There must have been a dozen purebloods they could have hit instead of me, and why aim at me anyway? _I_ didn't kill Mr. Parkinson, and their father got off!" 

"Yet you testified at the trial -- perhaps not as forgotten as we had hoped. Or Harry's presence at Malfoy Manor reminded them of that betrayal."

"Harry was attacked, and yet didn't even _hurt_ him." 

"You fixate too much on Mr. Parkinson." Snape twirled his wand idly between his fingers. "I doubt that was their concern. The Dark Lord's vengeance is not questioned, whomever the target."

"Well, that's stupid." 

"Precisely, Mr. Malfoy." Snape slid his wand out of sight. "Now, if you will excuse me, I require my sitting room back from a plague of uninvited guests." He gestured at the door. "If you would?" 

"Oh." Draco's hands flew over his face and clothes, alarm clear in his wide eyes. 

"I'll scout," Harry said, understanding. "There's unlikely to be anyone out there -- I think it's just Seymour and Ruthven from your house." 

"If you would," Draco said, finally managing to produce a handkerchief. "I need a mirror." 

"You can find one elsewhere," Snape said dryly. "I have better things to do than support the vanity of a spoiled society heir." 

"We'll just be going then," Harry said quickly. "Come on, Draco." 

The insult was enough to override Draco's concern at his appearance. "What was _that_ about?" he demanded as they emerged into the empty corridor.

"Dark Arts hangover," Harry quipped. "Come on; let's go to our place." 

"You haven't been...?"

"Of course not! I'll give you details _somewhere else_ , Draco. Come on."

When the corridor forked, Harry started for the back staircase -- the den staircase, Finch-Fletchley had called it -- but Draco caught his arm. 

"My room." 

"I thought you didn't want to be seen."

"Please?" Draco said. "I can use a glamour, but I want _my_ room." 

"All right," Harry agreed. "I don't think you need a glamour anyway -- especially not with the light in there." 

 

They walked through the empty Common Room, and Blaise and Nott's dormitory, and into Draco's room. There, Draco excused himself and went into the bathroom, leaving Harry alone for what seemed like a ridiculously long time. Harry expected he was making sure he didn't show signs of crying, or of being yanked out the way by Tonks, but it was still rather dull. He didn't feel like reading a textbook or even poking through Draco's things looking for something more interesting, so he eventually ended up lying back on the bed, staring up at the canopy. 

When Draco finally emerged, he was so quiet about it that Harry didn't notice until he was quite close. 

"Hi," he said, almost shyly, and crawled into the narrow space at Harry's side. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped, leaning in for a kiss instead. 

The kiss had all the force that was missing from his other motions, and Harry pulled him down to make it closer. Draco wouldn't climb on top, pulling insistently until they were both on their sides. Unexpectedly, he twisted away, pressing his back to Harry.

"Draco?" Harry went up on one elbow, trying to see Draco's face. Are you okay?"

"I ... Yes," Draco said. "I want you to-- I-- I've decided I'm ready to ... progress." 

Harry didn't think he would have made any sense of that if Draco hadn't emphasized the last word with a tilt and press of his arse. Harry locked his mouth on the back of Draco's neck, both intensely turned on and struggling not to laugh. 

"What," he said, when he had recovered, giving his own push forward, "have me _fuck_ you?"

Draco tensed slightly. "Don't be vulgar." 

Again, Harry kissed the back of his neck, but gently this time. "You can be so vulgar when you're being cruel. You need to learn to do it when you're nice." 

"Vulgar isn't nice," Draco reproved, his voice high from the kisses.

"You're so wrong." Harry ran a hand down the front of Draco's body, lingering on his satisfying hard cock. "Say it."

"Say what?" 

Harry trailed his touch around to Draco's arse, sliding a finger lightly up his crack. Draco responded with a promising shiver. "Say 'fuck me, please.'"

"Harry." 

"I'll be nice," Harry soothed. He got his hand out of the way to pull Draco back into his hard shaft, rocking in small, tight motions to tease in the best sort of way. "I'm always nice. You know that." 

"Except when you're insane," Draco countered, relaxing -- and pushing back. 

"But I take good care of you, don't I?" 

"You do." 

"So say it." 

Draco sighed. "Please fuck me, Harry," he said, with theatrically breathy desire. 

Harry laughed, shoving against him harder. "Oh, you're impossible." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah." Harry pulled back enough to get his hand in between them again. It wouldn't do to get too excited before Draco was ready for more. He drew his touch along the lower curve of one cheek, then lingered over the rippled skin of his hole. "I love that." 

"Oh." 

"I love you."

"Good." Draco twisted to nip at Harry's shoulder. "Show me." 

 

Harry had been on the receiving end of this often enough to know what helped, and he'd a couple of fingers up Draco's arse more than once, so they weren't starting from nothing. Still, considering how long as Draco had put this off, he was resolved to make his first time brilliant. He wasn't sure why Draco wanted this now, but he _wasn't_ going to regret it. That imperative held against the mounting urgency of more physical desire as Draco -- his face pink, and his eyes closed more often then not -- rocked into his hand. Harry was standing by the bed now, and had three fingers in, but they were squeezed almost painfully tight together by that hard ring of muscle. 

"Please?" Draco said, his voice ragged. "Don't you want me?"

"Of course." Harry stretched up on his toes to show off his erection. Draco wasn't looking, so he bumped it into Draco's thigh. "But I want you to be ready." 

"You took it without any of this." 

"Yeah. But as you say, I'm a mad Gryffindor."

"You said it didn't hurt." 

"It didn't," Harry assured him. "But you're more likely to tense up, I think." 

"Do you want me?"

"You can't imagine." Harry was surprised at how rough his voice sounded. Draco, rather than tensing, relaxed. Harry could feel it in the grip around his fingers. "You're so gorgeous," he dared, adding more lube. He wasn't sure if it was to ease his hand out or just to move it more. "I want so much be in you. I'm afraid of going too fast when I start." 

Draco relaxed more. He opened his eyes and looked up. "How like you," he drawled. "Do trust that I will complain if I am dissatisfied." 

Harry grinned. "Promise?" 

"Yes, Harry. Now be brave, as you should." 

It was definitely time to get some of the lube on himself. Harry cast the simplest of the protection charms he knew -- he had tried all of the ones from Lupin's book in private, but pointing a wand at his cock was still unnerving -- and slicked himself up. This one was a sort of barrier. He could feel the motion of his hand, but not the wetness, which was weird. 

Carefully, he pressed the tip of his cock to Draco's arse. He would have said he was as hard as a rock, but he had to hold his shaft just below the head to keep it from bending away. He'd seen Draco do this before, and had wondered if it meant he was bored. Apparently not. He tried pushing in, watching Draco's face intently. 

"Oh," Draco said canting his hips forward, knees splaying, then rising. "Do that." 

Remembering that uncertainty, Harry caught one of his calves. "Heels on my shoulders," he instructed. "Let me take the weight."

"'Kay." 

Harry pushed a little more, getting the head in just a little. He wanted to tell Draco to relax, but he knew that wouldn't help. Given a goal, Draco would try intensely. "Love you," he said instead, and that won him a crucial moment of softening. He pressed in enough to count, although still not past the head. Another pause, and he pressed again. "Good?" 

"Is that-- Are you--" 

"Not really, but this is wider than it would be if I was." 

Draco's body twitched against him as he held back a laugh. "Got it. I can take a little more, I think. I mean, it doesn't _hurt_ , it just feels--" 

While he was distracted with trying to describe it, Harry thrust, ending the sentence. That tight ring was finally around his cock, rather than blocking it. He stopped, letting both of them adjust. 

"Oh!" Draco said. His eyes were open wide. 

"Okay?"

" _Yes._ " He rocked up a little, but only once. "Ready whenever you are."

"I just need a moment to--"

"I know." 

And he probably did, Harry realized. At the moment, he was one strong push away from coming, but Draco had been there. He stood still for the time it took to count though the six levels of curses, then tried a slow thrust. 

"Oh," Draco said. "Yes." He smiled up at Harry with an almost drunken lack of focus. Harry's heart was pounding as he thrust again and Draco rocked his hips up to deepen the push. Within moments, he had quite forgotten to move slowly. Draco didn't seem to want it anyway, readily matching his rhythm. 

"Yours," he said, his face flushed red, one hand twisting in the sheets while the other worked his cock. Or maybe it was "more." Harry was too far gone to ask, and when one of those hands reached up to twist at his right nipple instead, he cried out in surprise and fell past thought, hammering forward and roaring as he came. 

Arched back, eyes closed, he heard Draco starting to follow and forced his eyes open to see. Draco's hand was a blur on his cock, and his mouth wide open. 

"So hot," Harry said, and Draco's eyes shot open as he came in bursts up his stomach and to one side. Since he was being pushed out anyway, Harry pulled clear and lightly licked Draco's fingers and the tip of his cock. 

"Oh." 

Harry crawled up Draco's limp form, kissing here and there as he went, and lingering at Draco's neck while Draco caught his breath. He lay back, and Draco curled over him, a leg splayed comfortably over Harry's thighs. For several minutes, they lay there, just breathing. 

"Mm," Draco said finally. "You quite wore me out."

"Did you like it?" Harry asked. 

"Yes. A bit more work than most other ways, but ... yes. It felt ... full." Draco tensed. "I meant that in both senses, though I'd been thinking of 'emotionally complete' before I heard what I said."

"Oh." Harry warmed at the thought. "Um...." 

"What?" 

"I wish I could say things half as well as you do." 

Draco laughed. "Thank you, darling." 

They kissed again. "And you?" Draco asked a while later. "Did you enjoy the other end of things?"

"Yeah. A lot. Though at first ... it was overwhelming when I was finally in. And _Distineo_ felt weird." 

"Doesn't it? That why I usually use _Innoxius_." 

Harry made a face. "Isn't that the one that can make you, um, limp?" 

Draco waved the objection away. "Only if you flick the wand down rather than across."

"Still, if I _did_ \--"

"It's not permanent, you know. And if you don't want to take the time to get worked up again, some of what you're ordering from the insane twins should do the trick."

"Oh. Er, from the description, I actually wasn't sure it was temporary." 

"Really?" Draco responded, surprised. "Why wouldn't it be? The spell has the same duration whether cast for prophylactic use or for dismissing an erection-- about two hours -- but could be dispelled immediately."

"Oh. Well, that's not bad then." Harry ducked his head. "I still find pointing my wand there...." 

Draco laughed. "I had the same problem with the cleansing charm. It took me a while to work up to it, as I'm sure you noticed." 

"I was wondering why it was taking so long to just clear your eyes." 

Draco's smile faded quickly at the reminder. To Harry's disappointment, he rolled away and sat up. 

"Already?" 

"Unfortunately." Draco reached out and touched the tip of Harry's nose. "We should wash up before dinner, and before _that_ you should explain to me what you and my spellfather got up to in my absence." 

"Oh, that." With a yawn, Harry sat as well, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs. Draco's attention flicked down for a moment, but then returned obstinately to his eyes. "He wanted me to try manipulating energy from his spellcasting."

"With Dark Arts?" Draco yelped. 

"No! Or, well yes, that's what he _wanted_ , but not what we did. I told him I couldn't, so we worked with neutral spells, but then he wanted me to observe a couple of Dark curses."

Draco huffed. "Because, of course, Dark Arts are the answer to everything." 

"I don't think that!" 

"Oh, not you. Him." 

"But he was right. The energy felt more accessible. I think I could have done more with it." 

"That's absurd." 

"No, it's -- I mean, my ability is to take power from Voldemort, right? Snape felt that I could do it with him because of the Dark Mark. But that really doesn't-- well-- _Morsmodre_ was the only neutral one I could work with easily, because it's His, I expect." 

"Oh!" Draco's eyes widened, and then narrowed. "I still plan to have a talk with Severus about this." 

"He'll say that someone needs to train me," Harry returned. He took a quick breath. "And someone does. We can't just hope I can do it right on the first try." 

"Why not? You could with _flying_ ," Draco said bitterly. 

Harry blinked. That didn't seem relevant. "Does that bother you?" he hazarded.

"Not really ... Well, perhaps a smidgen. I didn't really believe it was your first time until I got to know you; I thought you were just pretending to seem more impressive. Of _course_ you -- Harry Potter -- would have had a broom at home."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right. I swept the kitchen all the time." 

That got a smile from Draco at last. "I'm sure." He sighed. "I don't mean-- Training makes some sense, logically. I realize that your success, in this case, is of critical importance to far more people than us, but still--" 

"Too much time with Quiris?"

"Don't mock. It doesn't suit you." Draco swallowed. "I don't want to lose him, as I did my father." 

That mattered. Softening, Harry reached out for Draco's hand. "You won't." 

"You saw him earlier! I'd been traumatized! I was anxious about Mother, and Pansy and-- and he wouldn't even let me stay until I had calmed down!"

Harry considered this. "He may have been worried himself. He likes her -- your mother -- I think." 

"Oh, don't be disgusting!" 

"Likes, not _likes_! I mean, he seems to actually trust her now, and there aren't a lot of people he trusts, I'm sure."

"Only because he feels she has few other options. But yes. And they argued far less, this visit." With a sigh, Draco slid back off the bed to stand. "We should take a quick shower and dress. Perhaps she's sent a message -- she must be finished at the MLE by now -- or if she isn't, something is wrong." 

 

When they emerged into the Slytherin Common room, clothes smooth and hair combed, the younger Slytherins were there. Ruthven's eyes widened comically before he bent so low over his essay that his nose was nearly touching the parchment. He remained there, like a frightened rabbit, while Draco checked something by the fire, and still had not moved when Harry walked over to join Draco. 

"What is it?" 

"This?" Draco replaced a flat box on the mantel. "Just our message box for Professor Snape." 

"Message box?" 

"You don't have one?" Draco tilted the box into the light. "Look. The carvings would glow if there was something in it, which would be a parchment with someone's name, and possibly a time." 

"And Snape uses this to send messages?" 

"Well, to say that someone should come speak to him. How do you know when Professor McGonagall wishes to see you?" 

"Um -- she says so at the next meal, or after a lesson, or in the corridor." 

"Your house has _no_ sense of organization. You realize that, don't you?" 

Harry blinked. "McGonagall wants to talk to me two or three times a year, at most, and I'm probably more trouble than anyone but the Weasley twins were." 

"Also ill-supervised." 

There was no malice behind Draco's sneer. Harry laughed. "Gryffindors don't take well to supervision, actually. I think she knows what she's doing."

 

At dinner, a message arrived from Draco's mother. Harry watched his face intently while he read it, and determined the news could not be terrible. 

Draco tucked the letter away. 

"Everyone is -- or will be -- fine," he murmured quickly, cutting his meat efficiently into small bites. "I'll let you read it later, but let's have some food now." Harry followed his glance to where the headmaster would sit when he arrived, and nodded. Draco leaned close. "I'll leave first," he whispered. "Meet me in the Quiris' room." 

That worked smoothly. When trifle arrived, Draco stared at it and announced that he had lost his appetite. Harry finished his own with assumed leisure and left going up the stairs, so he would appear to be returning to Gryffindor. He entered the Quiris' room via the second floor entrance, emerging by the now-dark window. To his surprise, Draco came to his feet immediately. 

"Are my housemates still at the table?"

"Um, yes? They were when I left." 

"Good. We should be able to reach Slytherin before them. Discussion that they should be exposed to can be in front of them without appearing planned; after that, we'll go to my room."

So they walked out the dungeon door, and from there to the Slytherin Common Room. Harry was settled in front of the great fireplace before Draco finally handed him the letter. 

"Here," he said. "You should know all of this." 

 

_Dearest Draco,_

_Auror Tonks -- might I call her Nymphadora, do you think? -- told me that you arrived safely at Hogwarts. You must stay there, darling. Inside the castle, if you can bear it. I will convey your Christmas presents and the overnight bag that you left to Severus via Floo, so as not to overburden the owl._

_I am unharmed, and none of your friends more than bruised. The most serious damage in the attack was to Aristotle Canterbridge, but he reached St. Mungo's in time, and is expected to make a full recovery._

_Sylvester Avery and his cousin Geoffrey were among the attackers, but his brother Sebastian was emphatically not -- he pushed Sylvester's wand arm up, throwing off his aim, and they struggled until the Aurors disarmed them both. I don't believe I owe him a life debt, but I would like to provide him a favor -- when school resumes, please do keep your ears open around Cassandra Vere, both for possibilities and to see which of her cousins might have her support._

_The targets appear to have been you, me, and possibly Gilbert Clarke, who was thrown back into the crowd, but not significantly injured. That is unfortunately not true of the two of the people he landed on (Aristotle and his little granddaughter, Tabitha). Horatio is furious about the assault on his heir, whether it was through malice or carelessness._

_I have not yet spoken to the Parkinsons, as I was transported out before the chaos abated, but they appeared as shocked as the rest of us. I encountered the Clarkes at the MLE; Horatio was waiting for some investigative testing on Gilbert to be completed -- Margaret having taken the girls home -- and I waited with him. Gilbert was concerned about you; I told him you had escaped harm._

_I am terribly tired of war! A touch of excitement in life is all very well, but I would prefer it to be weddings and balls and a little salacious scandal here and there. This much personal news should be gossip, not a casualty report._

_Do give my regards to Harry. You might want to assure him that this is not his fault. Gryffindors are not sensible about such things, as I recall._

_Lovingly,_

_Mother_

  


"Right." Harry passed the letter back. "Thanks." 

"Are you sensible?" 

Harry hesitated. "I'm trying," he said. 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Try harder." 

The door opened, and Seymour began to enter, and then stopped. Ruthven ducked behind him. As he was taller, the effect was incongruously comical. 

"Oh, do come in," Draco admonished. "We're not about to do anything scandalous in the Common Room."

"I didn't think you would," Seymour said hastily. "Just -- it's all right?"

"When we want privacy, we will go someplace _private_ ," Draco said. "For now, I am explaining to Harry that someone else's attacks on me and my mother are in no way his responsibility." 

Harry sighed. "Responsibility, no," he said. "I get that. But it certainly seems like she was attacked for hosting me, even if that was her choice."

"She was attacked, almost certainly, because Mr. Parkinson was _killed_ after she evicted him from the ball. However, that was no more her fault than yours. By all indications, Mr. Parkinson was enough of a fool to bring an unnecessary report of failure to an obsessed megalomaniac who tolerates nothing of the sort. " 

Harry sighed. Ruthven had winced. "Yeah." He frowned at Draco. "She threw him out?" 

"Yes. Perhaps calling the Aurors would have been more sensible, but that seemed a course that would raise more ill-feeling. As you and I were unharmed, and Miss Sinclair merely scratched, Mother treated it as any -- no, as a _severely_ socially unacceptable behavior and violation of her hospitality. She floated Mr. Parkinson out the gate, revived him there, and set the wards against him." Draco's mouth quirked. "Aftera _quite_ thorough tongue-lashing about attacking her son and two invited guests." 

"But his family!" 

"As his stupidity was not your responsibility, his ill-behavior was not theirs." 

"Right." Harry ducked his head. "Sorry. Thinking like a Muggle for a moment." 

"Pardon?" 

"A, er, Muggle family would tend to travel to a party in a shared vehicle." 

Draco, after a moment of surprise, threw back his head and laughed. 

"It wasn't _that_ stupid!" 

"Of course not. And they might have shared a Portkey. You're just so _darling_ when you're lost!" Draco caught himself. "I do mean it, Harry. You shouldn't take offense. And it's not entirely a bad analogy. For his family to get home without him might have been inconvenient if there were several underage children. However, Pansy is old enough to Apparate, and Garrett too young to attend, so Mother did not feel she was inconveniencing anyone. She went to Mrs. Parkinson afterwards, and told her what her husband had done, and that he was not welcome back at the manor, but that she might reconsider if he acknowledged that he was at fault and pledged better behavior. Mrs. Parkinson was visibly embarrassed, but said she had better return home before he did something foolish. She collected Pansy -- before I could speak to her, unfortunately -- and left." 

"But then he did something foolish, and didn't return--" Harry stopped, swallowing. 

"Not alive. His headless body was propelled through their foyer window in the middle of the night." 

Ruthven looked terrified. Harry couldn't really blame him, especially if his family supported Voldemort. Or did he not know who was to blame? 

"Voldemort is such a bastard," Harry said viciously. "He left the head here, with a letter for me, saying it was a _gift_ , as if I'd be happy he killed someone." 

"He might be excused for that, if nothing else." 

"I don't want people killed! Not except for him." 

"And perhaps Bellatrix?" Draco asked delicately. 

"Not if she'd backed off! And it's not fair! I mean, to Parkin-- to Pansy, and her mum, and the family. This is what he does to people who try to _help_ him? It's not like _he's_ ever managed to kill me either!" 

"True," Draco said. "Fortunately." He stared moodily into the fire. "How was your day? Otherwise, I mean."

"Eh." Harry shrugged. "Arguing with the headmaster. A few things that should probably be private." 

"Do you want to come down here for Christmas morning?"

Harry hadn't been expecting that. 

"Um, maybe? It would be nice to be with you." 

"More people would help," Seymour blurted out. "I'm used to a crowd. My Aunt Missy comes over with her family.... Well, other years." 

"Why are you here?" Harry asked. "I mean, I hope nothing's wrong." 

"Well, it's not _tragic_ ," Seymour said. "The younger kids have dragon pox, and I never have --"

"You ought to, then," Draco chided. 

"Yes, but I'd be getting it after the term started, and would miss too much school. Professor Snape said that if I went home, I couldn't come back until it was over, because he doesn't want it spreading all over the house, so that would be another week, or two even."

Harry looked around the room. It wasn't as gloomy as he had thought it as a second year, but it didn't seem right for Christmas morning. "Gryffindor is more festive," he admitted. "And if I come down here, that leaves just Sajid and Helen."

Draco frowned. "You're not friends with them." 

"No. But I met Sajid doing as you recommended -- talking to more people in my house, I mean. I don't have much in common with either of them, but they don't have much in common with each other either." 

"So if you're up there ignoring each other, you might as well be down here," Seymour argued. "Not that it matters to me." 

"We haven't been ignoring each other!" 

"But you just said--"

"We don't have much in common. So we've been playing games. Parcheesi and Moonherd, mostly."

"Parcheesi?" Seymour frowned. "What's that?"

"Muggle game. I learned it in the mixed-house space. We had to transfigure the board." 

"And Moonherd?"

"My godfather sent me a set last spring, with a letter saying it had amused him in the hospital wing." Worried that might seem too familiar, Harry sighed. "I'd like to actually meet him properly. Maybe if the current investigation pans out." 

"Sirius Black?" Seymour asked, eyes wide. "That would be so strange!" 

"Would it?" 

"Well, he's practically the bogeyman. Maybe it's just that I was younger when he escaped....." 

"Not entirely," Harry said. "I mean, I was younger than you are now, and told he was personally after me." 

"Yes, but I was ten, and my mother said she was _so_ relieved I wasn't at Hogwarts yet." 

Draco laughed. "Whereas I thought I was more or less safe. My mother had said that no one had known he was working for the Dark Lord, and he might not be sane or reliable, but if I encountered him, I must say I was of the House of Black, and then he wouldn't harm me." 

"He hates--" Harry caught himself, but a moment too late. Ruthven had sat bolt upright. 

"You're in touch?"

"Well, not really," Harry answered. "I mean, he's sent me letters, since that article, you know, but I can't reply. The owls are confounded or something."

"And what does he hate?" 

Harry looked speculatively at Draco. "That I'm dating a Malfoy. He's quite down on it. If I could reply, of course, I could tell him it was only temporary -- no idea if that would help." 

Draco scowled. Harry smiled apologetically back. It wasn't like he was a Slytherin, after all; Draco couldn't expect constant subterfuge. 

"Here's an idea!" he said. "Maybe I could get the headmaster to open the mixed house space for Christmas. Anyone who wanted to could open presents there, and we could play games all together if we want."

Seymour brightened. "I have a bunch of games." 

"Bring them, then!"

"The mixed-house space is good for that," Draco added. "It tends toward people who are open to learning new things." 

"Will it happen, though?" Ruthven asked. "It's always been restricted. Why would Dumbledore do that now?" 

Harry met Draco's eyes. "He _owes_ me." His tone was darker than he had intended. He shrugged and added lightly, "and it's harmless. I think he will." 

"If you ask properly," Draco warned. "Don't make it a contest of wills." 

"Right. He's as stubborn as I am. No, I'll let him know it would make me happy. He'd like a way to do that, I think." 

"Without giving in on anything of substance?" 

"Exactly." 

 

Christmas in the mixed-house space was festive. Dumbledore not only opened it, but supplied a tree and pine swags, and a cauldron of hot chocolate with an anti-scalding charm. Throughout the morning, bursts of magical snow would occasionally fall from the ceiling, pile on the floor in drifts just big enough for a few snowballs, and then vanish in a burst of sparkling warmth that dried the carpet underneath. 

Harry had presents from the people he expected -- Draco, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Sirius, Remus, and Mrs. Weasley -- but also a book from Professor Snape ( _Understanding Magical Energy_ ), elegant cufflinks from Narcissa, a plant from Neville, a broad folding belt knife from Mill, and an assortment of candies and trinkets from lower-years. 

Draco, for his part, had a small mountain of gifts, many quite elaborate, but was comically startled to find that they included a cashmere scarf from the Patil twins and a Quidditch calendar from Ginny and Cornelia that included all scheduled British Isles matches for the upcoming season. ("We couldn't agree who saw this first, so we went in on it together!") He was less surprised, but warmly pleased, to receive a book on Shaping from Hermione. 

Harry and Draco kissed occasionally. So, to their surprise, did Sophia and Jeremy. Midway through the afternoon, while Seymour was excitedly learning Parcheesi, and Ruthven playing Exploding Snap with Callie, Harry looked at Draco, and in mutual understanding, they slipped out and up to Gryffindor, where they blocked the door and made love in front of the fire. 

Harry considered the day a success. 

 


	43. Realignments

 

"What is that like?" Draco asked, as they left Snape's rooms the next week. Snape had just worked with Harry on energy manipulation for a second time. In between had been a more standard lesson in wandless magic. 

"It's hard to describe. Can you feel other people's magic at all?" 

"Not until it hits me," Draco said dryly. "Like normal people." 

"I get that," Harry said earnestly. "I mean, that's mostly true for me, too. I'm supposed to be able to use Voldemort's, that's all, and I mostly don't feel other people's. You saw how he needed to have the Mark bare."

"If that's true -- I mean, if you can use _his_ power because your parents and their friends gave you their vengeance-rights before you were born, and the spell was something they created -- why can he teach it?"

Harry stopped. The question had never occurred to him. 

"Haven't you wondered that?"

"He could just be guessing. I mean, it's not as if he's tried to explain it at all. He just tells me to try."

"Has he assigned you any reading?"

"No."

Draco sniffed. "Then there probably isn't any. Still, I intend to look." 

"There was that Christmas book..."

"Tangential at best. Now, you had a question for me?" 

Harry glanced around for other people, but they were alone. That wasn't surprising, as there were fewer than a dozen students in the school for this week, and half the staff had left as well. He still didn't want to mention Millicent; it would be just his luck to have Peeves shoot out of a crack in the wall, cackling lewd insinuations. "Ordering the satyrs' hooves," he said quickly. 

"Oh-ho!"

Harry frowned into his lover's leer. "You're not helping." 

"Well, you needn't fear they will think you can't get it up; not with _that_ quantity."

"So what do I say? They'll ask, Draco; they're friends." 

"Gryffindor friends! I would head that off with a vague comment with the order -- something like 'don't ask -- I'll send you details if the results are amusing.'" 

Harry pulled at his hair. "Then they'll ask Ron how it went."

"You could order extra and pull some sort of prank with it." 

"Like what?" 

"Dose the staff table and give all the men Priapism?"

"What's that?" 

"Persistent erections." 

They paused and thought about that for a while. 

"I'd find that creepy, I think."

"And Severus would no doubt track you down and exact revenge." Draco brightened. "That's it!" 

"What?"

"You _hint_ that you have plans, and then we have my spellfather give you a week's detention, and you tell them you got caught brewing. Weas-- Ron will tell them about the detention, and they'll fill in plausible details themselves."

"And we get Professor Snape to go along with this? How? We can't explain it." 

"Oh, once school resumes, I'll tell him that you're getting a touch too much pressure in Gryffindor and need a break and some sympathy, and also suggest it would provide a more convenient avenue to continue lessons."

"As long as he lets me do schoolwork." 

Draco waved the objection regally to one side. "Leave it to me. Not every night for a week, though -- that would be tiresome for all involved. Tuesday and Thursday for January, perhaps. We're done with the project for McGonagall, but accustomed to having Tuesday taken, so it shouldn't be too painful, and the punishment length would suit. If there's no clue as to what you're being punished _for_ , people will assume that Severus doesn't wish to say, implying that he is protecting someone -- possibly himself, or perhaps you or a third party."

" _Slytherins_ will assume."

"Yes. And Gryffindors will assume he is being unfair, which can only benefit you. To my room; I'll help you write the letter; we'll get it sent and then have some fun." Draco started forward again. "Oh, and ask for a few Caladrius feathers and some coltsfoot, as well." 

Harry didn't recognize either one. "For the next divination?" 

"Exactly." 

 

Midweek, when Harry received a letter, he opened it with some trepidation, fearing a fast reply from the twins. Instead, it was a second letter from Pansy -- this one normal ink on parchment. 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_I apologize for my reaction last week. I was overwrought. You did not murder my father, and I do not hold you responsible for his death. If you are willing, I believe we should talk at the beginning of term._

_Regards,_

_Miss Pansy Parkinson_

 

"Is that from Pansy?"

They were at lunch, sitting with the other Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Ruthven was delightedly terrified by Sajid's tales of sixth-year Care of Magical Creatures, and Harry wondered if the Slytherin realized that Sajid was a Muggleborn. Seymour had figured that out on Christmas, he was sure, but might have kept quiet about it.

"Yeah," Harry passed the letter over. "Think it's sincere?" 

Draco's eyes flicked over the page. "Yes," he said boldly. "She replied to my letter this morning, via Severus, rather than an owl." 

"And?" 

"And it is _private_ ," Draco said firmly, with a shift of his eyes to the younger students. Harry nodded. Private might exclude him as well, but it was worth asking when they were alone. 

 

Indeed, in Draco's room, later that day, he confided more details. 

"She wrote that she had been angry, but the attack was terrifying. She could only think that I might die -- and believing she hated me!" Draco mimicked Pansy's voice slightly; Harry wasn't sure he was even aware of it. "And that made her realize that she had always intended to forgive me, and perhaps her anger wasn't so much anger as pain and the need to control _something_. She felt this made her look more logically at what was known and what was alleged of her father's death, including some new information she inferred during the investigation." Draco looked sidelong at Harry. "She seems to believe you were present; I'm not sure why. She expressed frustration at how few details she had and asked if I would prevail upon you to speak to her."

"And then she wrote to me," Harry guessed. 

"No. The letters would have been sent at the same time, and I haven't replied yet. With your permission, I intend to answer that you and I will tell her what we know, but that it might be less than she imagines."

Harry shrugged. "You know I will." 

"Certainly," Draco drawled. "However, _Pansy_ does not." 

"Where do we do it?" 

"Hm. She will want someplace private, but it needn't be secret. We'll find something. Perhaps it could be in Snape's office during your 'detention.'"

 

There was no point in advancing the issue to Snape until the other students returned -- Draco could hardly claim that Harry was under pressure from his housemates now. They spent a leisurely -- although not exactly lazy -- afternoon together, and wandered into dinner hand-in-hand. 

Dumbledore, Snape, and Hagrid were expected. Another adult was not. 

"Harry!" Remus said brightly, turning from conversation with Hagrid. "Here at last!" More coolly, he nodded a greeting to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy." 

"Hello!" Draco said, as cheerily as if he had been greeted by an old friend. He gave Harry's hand a visible swing before letting it go. "We would have been prompter if we had known you were coming. Are you here to visit Harry?"

It took Remus a moment too long to answer. Harry could tell he was surprised by Draco's manner, although it did not quite show in his face. 

"Yes," he replied politely. "He had promised to introduce me to some Quiris. I understand you are taking care of them?" 

Draco smiled. Harry knew this one was spontaneous, although he was not sure how. Something about the rest of Draco's face, or the angle of his head. "They can take care of themselves, for the most part. I see that they don't get too lonely or bored -- or I try to. They've been here longer than they should be, really." 

"They appear to be happy enough," Dumbledore said calmly, and Draco's chin lifted more. 

"When they have visitors, yes. But they're sad when I leave, and they're always indoors now, because winter in Scotland is too cold for them." He looked back to Remus. "Frieda had been going to take them south in November, at the latest. But they will be glad to see someone new." 

"Had you been bringing them outside?" Dumbledore asked, frowning. "I was not aware of it." 

"Not taking them," Draco said. "But they can go out their window onto the roof. I was quite terrified the first time I saw them do so, but of course they take naturally to heights." 

Remus inclined his head. "Perhaps you should come along, then." 

Draco's eyes widened. "Of course! They haven't met you before! There are people who visit without me -- Hermione, for example, and the headmaster -- but I wouldn't send a stranger there unattended." He collected himself, his shoulders rising and settling back. "If Harry wishes time alone with you after introductions, I will not impose, of course." 

Remus cleared his throat. "You sound quite protective."

"Frieda left them with me," Draco answered. For him, Harry felt the statement blunt. "Protecting them is my duty." 

"Yet you allow them on the roofs?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

Draco did not back down. "Nature prepared their ancestors for narrow holds at height," he said. "Wizards and witches are a hazard of but a few generations. Mr. Lupin -- your pardon, sir," he added with a nod -- "is a difficult case, even there -- not prone to _use_ of Dark Arts, I would expect, but with elements of Darkness beyond his control." Draco shrugged. "Even Harry cannot approach them at some times -- when his scar flares, I believe, because the effect is more short-lived than use of Dark Arts."

Dumbledore looked gratifyingly startled, and Remus almost abashed. Harry was impressed by the craft of that lie, and had to work not to show it.

"I had not considered it in that light," Dumbledore said. "Forgive my presumption." 

After a few seconds, Hagrid stepped into the silence with news of oddities in the Forest, and conversation moved to practicalities. By the end of dinner, Dumbledore looked almost vexed, but he nodded to Remus as they rose.

"Stop by my office before you leave," he said. "I have some messages for a friend of yours." 

 

The visit was unremarkable in any way Harry could define, but he could see how Remus was watching Draco, even while the Quiris charmed him. In return, Draco watched him, but had little to say afterwards, except that Lupin had been better to him as a person than to him as a Slytherin student. 

 

Draco and Harry spent most of the week together in Draco's dormitory or Harry's -- Sajid and Helen having decided that the Slytherins were not so horrible after all -- and the days flew by. It seemed like no time at all until the winter holiday drew to a close. Harry and Draco reprised their icicle battle in the early afternoon sun, warmed up together in a pine-scented Prefect's Bath, and were sitting demurely side by side in a tower window when the puffs of steam from the Hogwarts Express curled into the valley at sunset. They had agreed each should spend the evening with their returning housemates, and they parted with a kiss and a bracing squeeze of hands. Harry waited nervously in the common room, wondering if Ron and Hermione would be speaking to each other. 

Ron entered first, and Harry's worry deepened that they weren't together. It helped that Ron came straight towards him. 

"Harry! You had a good holiday, I hope? Thanks for the Keeper's gloves; those are brilliant! Mum was happy you included the neck guard too."

Hermione was just stepping through the portrait hole. She hurried over -- smiling, at least. 

"Harry!" She waited for a hug before saying anything more. "Did you have a good holiday? After the start, I mean." She grimaced. "I know you were here when they found the head."

Harry looked between them. Were they going to each talk readily to him and ignore each other? That would be horrible. "Worse than that," he said. "I was just walking back with Remus when they were getting it down." 

"Ugh!" She shuddered. Ron leaned forward. 

"You got to see it then?"

"Only from a distance, fortunately." Harry had no intention of providing the details that Ron seemed to want. "How was your Christmas?" 

Ron rolled his eyes. "Decent, once Bill ordered Ginny to stop pretending I wasn't there." 

"I had a lovely holiday," Hermione said primly. "I enjoy spending time with my parents. They both took the entire week off from work so we could do things together, and we spent two full days in museums in London, and another day in Cambridge, ostensibly visiting a friend of Dad's." She laughed. "It was Oxford in the summer. I think they're hoping to tempt me back to the Muggle world with University libraries."

"You wouldn't!" Ron exclaimed. Harry felt something in his chest ease. 

"Of course not!" She flashed Ron a momentary smile as she raised her chin. " _Our_ books are much more interesting." 

He settled. "If you say so." 

They weren't exactly normal together, Harry thought, as the conversation continued. They were being carefully civil and pretending _that_ was normal. Still, after each put away the things they had carried, they both walked down to dinner with him -- on opposite sides of him all the way to the Great Hall and down the long Gryffindor table. 

 

"Good evening, Harry!" Seamus leered from across the worn oak surface as laden platters appeared between them. "Did you have an _adventurous_ break with Draco?" 

Harry grinned. "Very," he said, answering the question intended. Then he thought about the previous year. "Not as much flying around as last time -- no Muggle shops -- but we kept ourselves entertained." 

"How was Malfoy Manor?" Parvati asked, leaning over her plate. 

Ron flinched. "You didn't."

" _Ron,_ " Parvati protested, "it was in _all_ the society columns." 

"Harry?" 

"It was fun," Harry answered, ignoring Ron's scowl, Seamus' wince and Hermione's gasp, all in favor of smiling at Parvati. "Well, except for Draco spending the entire ball with potential wives. I'd already been there a full day, though, so we'd had time together, and with his mother."

Her beads rang against thin metal bracelets as she leaned her chin on her hand. "And were _you_ the reason for the change in color scheme?" 

Harry laughed. "No. That was because Lucius wasn't there. Did someone actually think that?"

"Lacey Carmichael of _Glitter Watch._ She also reported that you danced with _several_ heiresses, and hinted you might be wooing Miss Hanley." 

"Well you know that's rot." 

She shrugged. "But _three_ dances? Was it really three?" 

"Two, I think. People were actually counting?"

"Harry! You should read your own press. Fortunately, I kept clippings. I'll bring them on Friday."

Harry looked at Hermione. "And you didn't see?" 

"I don't read gossip columns."

Parvati swung her ponytail back, so high that it narrowly missed Seamus's face. "Perhaps you should." 

 

"Were you going to tell us?" Ron asked angrily. He had been silent throughout dinner, and sped ahead of the other Gryffindors afterwards, so they were now a full flight above their closest housemates.

"About the Malfoy ball?" 

"About _visiting_ Malfoy bloody Manor." 

"Of course." 

That set Ron back on his heels. 

"It was certainly the most exciting part of my holidays," Harry continued. "Strange, and a little bit dangerous --"

" _Very_ dangerous!" Hermione burst out.

"Well, the ball itself, yes, though only some of it seemed that way." Harry looked back down the stairs. "Look, want to go somewhere and talk about it?"

"Right," Ron said, but Hermione shook her head. 

"I need to be available this evening. Is it not Common Room conversation?" 

"Well, some of it could be." They started moving again, trying to stay ahead of the nearest cluster. "Everything but the security arrangements, almost." 

"Oh, there was security then?" 

"Some, but as I said ..."

She nodded briskly. "You'll tell us more in private, I expect. Tomorrow, after classes and before dinner?" 

Harry hesitated. "Not right after. I need to show up at the mixed house space for a little while. Give me half an hour there?"

Sighing, Hermione nodded. "Agreed." The matter properly postponed, she took his arm, slowing her pace. Ron didn't object. Within seconds, Sammy and Robbie raced past them with waves for Harry. "So, what shall we talk about this evening? Was any of your time _here_ proper Common Room conversation?"

"Some," he said coyly, making her giggle and Ron scowl.

"Have you started on your schoolwork?" 

He winked at Ron. "Not a bit of it." He didn't feel guilty about the lie at all. It got a smile out of Ron.

"Good for you, mate," he said. "Holidays are for relaxing and having fun."

"Ah, but for Hermione, studying _is_ fun." 

She shrugged off Ron's snort of amusement, but dropped her hold on Harry. "Sometimes," she agreed coolly. "It depends on the class." 

"Harry!" Yolanda called, hurrying up beside them. "Did you _really_ go to the Malfoy Ball?" 

"I did." 

"You didn't really leave Draco Malfoy for Linnet Hanley, did you? I mean, she's very pretty, but in _his_ house, and I've never even seen you with her!" 

Ron snickered. "I have." 

"We're friends," Harry assured Yolanda, "but just that. She wanted to dance and I wanted to dance, that was all." 

"Oh good. I told Mummy that you wouldn't." 

"Harry!" Robbie called back from the portal. "Do you know the password?" 

"I can help," Hermione said firmly, pushing past him. "If you need the password, Mr. McDuffie, you should ask me or a Prefect." 

Robbie stepped back, looking at his shoes. "BuHarryknowstoo." 

Hermione sighed. "Barbican."

"What?" Robbie asked, confused enough to look at her. 

"A defensive tower at the entrance to a walled town." 

"Oh." He straightened and beamed at her. "Us!" 

"Exactly," Harry said approvingly. 

 

Harry didn't consider himself paranoid, exactly -- more alert to his surroundings. While packing up his Potions equipment after the first lesson of the term, he saw someone moving unnecessarily close to the table he had shared with Draco, and he directed enough attention towards that motion to see Pansy drop something flat in his bag. A note, he assumed. When Hermione approached, he paid less attention. 

"Hermione!" Draco exclaimed, and Harry twisted to see Hermione standing at the next table back, clutching his school bag as well as her own. 

"We can discuss it later," Hermione said, turning away. "I'll meet you in the Quiris' room." 

"Rather high-handed today," Draco remarked, catching the sleeve of Harry's robes. Harry was inclined to pull free, but Draco's voice stayed light. "Best to go along, I think." His voice lowered, although the room was nearly empty. "You can call Dobby to bring lunch." 

"Forget lunch!" Harry snapped. "She has no right--"

"Mr. Potter." Snape pivoted from where he had been sneering at sample vials on his desk. "Detention." 

"For--" Harry stopped in mid-protest. Had Draco advanced his plan to Snape already?

"Exactly," Snape spat, for the small audience of Neville and Seamus, both frozen near the door. "Did you think I would not find out? Tomorrow night at seven, and don't think that's the last of it." 

Harry fumed silently beside Draco as they walked down the torch-lit dungeon corridor. Snape's actions, while helpful, were still humiliating, but that was just a shadow under his anger at Hermione. Did she imagine he would refuse? Did she think that she needed to steal his books to get him to keep his word? He arrived at the Quiris' room ready to lay into her with full righteous indignation. He had imagined her waiting by the door, ready to speak, but when he threw it open, she wasn't there. He had to look to the side to find her, through the tangle of climbing frames that Draco had been slowly growing for the Quiris to play on. She was settled in the window seat, with Tuktuk in her lap and Cheefi grooming her hair, and she beamed at him as their eyes met. Cheefi jumped down with a little chirrup and ran to Draco to swing up onto his shoulder. 

"Hello, darling!" he said cheerily, and Cheefi rubbed against his ear before leaning towards Harry.

Harry consented to having his hair patted for a moment -- even though he could feel his stored anger weakening with the touch. He walked over to Hermione, swerving as little as possible as he moved among the hanging vines and ropes to the clearer space by the second floor entrance.

"So." He could still glare. "I'm here."

"It was the closest private space I could think of," she said apologetically. 

That was unexpected. "We needed _privacy_?" he asked, with what acid he could muster. 

"Pansy Parkinson put something in your bag. I saw her do it while you were brushing Bowtruckle dust off your scales." With a soft nudge for the Quiri in her lap, she got to her feet, the straps of his bag held in both hands. "We should take it someplace safe and upend it with magic."

He wasn't sure he would have laughed without Tuktuk swinging off her arm, but his relief had to go somewhere. 

"I wouldn't worry about it," he said, reaching for the bag. "She said she'd contact me, and it looked like a note." 

"Parkinson?" Hermione said incredulously, still holding it close. "Contact you about _what_?" 

"Voldemort killing her father?" 

"I'll pull it out, if you'd like," Draco said, stepping up and reaching into the bag. He drew out a square of parchment and unfolded it. "Start Charms essay-- Sorry, wrong one. Ah, here! 'Mr. Potter, I wish to talk to you in private. You may choose the place, and have Draco and two other friends present, if I may bring Cassandra Vere and Daphne Greengrass. Only Draco may be within the privacy charm whilst we speak. Please reply with discretion. Sincerely, Miss Pansy Parkinson.'"

"Does it really say that about you?"

"See for yourself." Draco held out the parchment. "She trusts me." 

"Or thinks you know something," Harry retorted. 

"I'm one of them," Hermione said fiercely. 

"What?" 

"One of your two. I'm competent, I'm fast, and I _won't_ let her hurt you." 

"A good choice," Draco affirmed, before Harry could get a word out. "She expects that, if she has half the sense I think she does, and she probably anticipates Ron as your other ally. Choose a Slytherin instead."

Harry could see benefits to that. Pansy needed to remember that he wasn't _just_ a Gryffindor if he was to get her to listen. "Mill?"

"Pansy _does_ underestimate her, which could help if it came to combat, but I don't expect real trouble. Someone she respects more would position you more favorably." Draco leaned against the windowsill. "Gilbert, perhaps? We spoke last night, and the attack at St. Hildegard's has quite turned his father's distaste at the Dark Lord's tactics to full opposition."

"Attack at--" Hermione confusion cleared. "Howell Parkinson's funeral?" Her eyes widened. "Oh. Her _father_." 

"Right." 

Draco raised his chin. "And that the Clarkes are from similar politics and of higher status can only help. I expect her mother will talk to _his_ mother, were Pansy to speak well of you." 

Harry studied Draco. He was slightly flushed -- a good look on him, but many things were -- and despite the nonchalance of his pose, much of his weight was on his toes, as if he were ready to launch forward. "You really want this to work." 

Draco turned pinker. "We've been friends for as long as I remember," he said. "I miss her." 

"If she cared, you'd be friends now," Hermione said sharply. 

"I see." Draco glared. "True friends never go cool on you when they think you're doing the wrong thing? Or is Ron Weasley not really a friend?" 

She looked away. 

"Even Ron has never snubbed her for more than a month," Harry protested. "Or me, for that matter." 

Draco nodded. "True. He's a Gryffindor -- emotional and impetuous. Pansy's response is more deliberate; rather than complete silence, I find myself at a measured distance, intended to express disapproval, softening when she perceives a potential break between us." 

"Wait." Had he missed something? "When?" 

Draco smirked. "She often sees what she wants to see. The Quidditch match, for example -- that had been intended to drive us apart, and she was being quite warm towards me until you arrived." 

"Oh. Got it." 

Tuktuk moved from Hermione's side to Harry's shoulder. It would have been more comfortable if she hadn't used the position to tug on Cheefi's tail, earning a retaliating poke.

"Hey!" 

Hermione laughed. "It's good to see you comfortable with them." 

Sighing, Harry turned towards her. "Look, the reason I was so angry when I got here was that I thought you were forcing me to come. You can't keep demanding this." 

"You're too secretive. And actually, I told you I would look after you."

"I agreed to _one_ ti--"

Draco waved a hand between them. "It's not worth arguing about. Frieda is going to be coming back for them. Soon. I received her letter this morning." 

His voice tightened as he spoke. Harry pulled him close, finding his own feelings mixed. "Permanently?" 

"Unclear. They'll be gone at least six weeks, but that was how long she said they might stay." Draco smiled wanly. "She has promised me that I can visit when I'm out of school and she's somewhere I _can_ visit. She travels rather a lot." 

"That's too bad!" Hermione exclaimed. "Although, I suppose they'll be glad to be back with other Quiris -- they seem lonely -- or at least very eager for company. May I come here on my own while they're still around?"

"Of course. You're always welcome to." 

"I was surprised that the door wasn't locked, actually."

"Oh, the expectation is that they can take care of themselves. They can leave here if they try, at least by the second-floor door; they understand that it may be uncomfortable." Draco smiled. "I think Frieda hoped they would be venturing out, by now. When I said they hadn't, she asked me to take them walking occasionally over the next two weeks, to get them used to more people." He smirked at Harry. "Shall we plan some visits?" 

"Slytherin Common Room?" Harry asked blandly. 

"Not Gryffindor?" 

"You wouldn't get away with that without a crisis. Entering, I mean, not the Quiris." 

"Oh, I know! Let's ask Professor Hecksban if we can bring them to a lesson."

"What -- as a topic?"

"Exactly. They _are_ germane to the subject, after all. But I'll need to be able to leave early if they become agitated." 

"He should agree to that." 

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Tuktuk had managed to stretch from Harry's lap to Hermione's. Harry thought it ought to be uncomfortable, but the Quiri looked content as it twisted half onto its back. 

"It's a pity to leave," Hermione said reluctantly, "but we ought to eat something before Charms." 

"Harry will have Dobby bring our luncheon here." 

"No, he will not!" Hermione moved Tuktuk's front legs back to Harry's thigh. "I will _not_ make extra work for some poor House Elf for my convenience." 

"He'd be delighted," Draco protested. 

"And I don't think it's actually much extra work," Harry ventured. "I mean, the food's already made, right?"

"It's not _fair_."

"Hermione," Draco said seriously, "what would you think if Harry had a difficult extracurricular research problem -- say, how to make a return Portkey that operated on a word, rather than at a time -- and said he would ask you to help research, and the person he was talking to said that wouldn't be fair to you?"

"That was important!"

"You've helped me with more trivial things," Harry argued.

"Yes, but I don't mind--"

" _Exactly_ ," Draco said.

"And I could refuse if I wanted to."

"So could Dobby," Harry pointed out. "He's not bound to me. He said as much to Remus -- that it was good to have someone to help, and also good to be able to say no." 

"Like that? Draco asked, his eyebrows rising. 

"No it was-- Well, almost. That if I told him to do something bad, he wouldn't, and he wouldn't need to iron his ears either." He looked over at Hermione. "What if we ask him?" 

"Well...."

"Dobby!"

After a second of silence, the air before them puffed out and Dobby appeared. "Harry Potter, sir!" He nodded to both of the others, but then crossed his arms over his narrow chest. "You is all supposed to be at lunch! The kitchen Elves have made Scotch broth and crusty rolls and glazed carrots and Maryland chicken. They be sad if not enough is eaten."

"Would it be too much trouble to bring us some here," Harry asked, "or should we go to the Great Hall?"

Dobby's ears came up. "Is no trouble for Dobby! If there is platters in the kitchens--"

"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "We should go to the Great Hall. Ron's still annoyed at you, Harry, and if you spend lunch time with Draco and me...." 

"Oh, right. I hadn't thought of that." 

"But it's rather late," Draco argued. "By the time we walk down there, we won't get much to eat." 

Dobby looked at Harry. "Does Harry Potter wish to eat in the Great Hall?"

"Well, yes, but--"

He didn't get to finish the sentence. If regular Apparation was like being squeezed through a hose, House Elf Apparation was like becoming part of a waterfall. After a moment's glorious arc, he found himself standing outside the doors of the Great Hall, with Dobby just letting go of his wrist. Before he could open his mouth, Dobby was gone again. He returned a moment later with Hermione and Draco. 

"Enjoy your good food, sirs and miss!'

"Thanks, Dobby." Harry wasn't sure if the House Elf heard him before he disappeared. Hermione and Draco stared at the place he had been with amusingly similar expressions of astonishment. 

"He didn't even _ask_ you," Draco protested weakly. 

"Well, we had this conversation at Remus's house, as I said--"

"Let's go in." Hermione drew him firmly towards the door. "See you at Charms, Draco!" 

 

The afternoon continued to be odd. After Symbology, Harry went to the Uncommon Room to meet Millicent, as he had done before last the day's last class for most of last term. She wasn't there. While he was waiting, his notebook warmed with a message from Draco. 

_Afraid I'm busy until dinner. Our clubhouse, after your detention?_

_Please!_ Harry sent back. It wasn't just that he needed Draco to hold him through letting go of the day's trials. He also wanted help with the reply to Pansy. 

By the time he had read through his Transfiguration chapter, he wasn't sure Millicent would show up, but she rushed in the door just as he was packing up to move to the mixed-house room. 

"Hi!" he said. She looked just a bit taller than he remembered. "I see you managed your own charms." 

She beamed. "Yes! But it's thanks to you, really."

"You did the work." 

"But you _taught_ me, where Flitwick never has. You'd be a great teacher, you know." 

Harry had never thought of himself as anything of the sort. He forced a shrug. "I don't know. A professor has a lot of students at once. With just you, I could customize." 

"That's a point." She frowned, but then shrugged it off. "Still, I think you're brilliant. I only had one close call."

"What did you do?"

She grinned. "I hid in my room in a huff, like you said, and told myself that I could call you. Once I calmed down, the glamour worked." Her smile faded. "Everyone thinks I hate them, I expect. I couldn't let anyone hug me. Not even Da, and I could tell he was worried." She set her shoulders. "I'll be set by summer -- just -- if he forgives me...."

"He's your _father_." 

Millicent snorted. "And what would you know about fathers? Sorry," she added hastily, "but it's true. It's easy for you to look at families and think it's all love and understanding. When you have one, it's more complicated." 

Harry shrugged. He didn't think all families were perfect, but arguing about it would mean lingering on the matter. Millicent cleared her throat. "So. The next potions...?" 

Harry grinned. "I've got all the stuff." 

"Really?" She laughed. "Oh, good, because I've been trying to figure out what I'd do if you got cold feet." 

"Mill," he said. " _Gryffindor_." 

"Right, but your sources...." 

"Draco helped," he admitted. "My sources think they know what I'm up to." 

"Which is?" 

"I have no clue." 

She smiled, her eyes narrowing. "That's the _best_ kind of alibi. Draco's contribution?" 

"Of course." 

 

Harry went alone to the mixed-house space. Gilbert was there, at least, sitting with Gloria, and he beckoned for Harry to join them. 

"Linnet should be up later." 

"I can't stay long," Harry apologized, as he set down his bag. "Gryffindor drama." 

Gilbert waved acceptance. "We'll see you tomorrow, I expect." 

"Yes, of course." Tomorrow was Friday. Harry couldn't bring up the matter of Pansy here, but they should be able to discuss it in the Uncommon Room. 

He had nearly finished the answers that were due the next morning in Potions -- which were not entirely untouched earlier, despite what he had told Ron and Hermione -- when the door opened. Seymour, his shoulders set back as firmly as a warrior's, led in a reluctant-looking Ruthven. Harry wanted to help, but thought he might be a hindrance. 

"Ruthven!" From across the table, Gloria jumped up with apparent delight. "So good to see you! Come here." She scooped up her things and dropped them on an empty table beside Gilbert's. Harry didn't think any of the kids saw when Gilbert looked over to him and raised his eyebrows. Harry shrugged, but suspected he looked smug. 

"I'll introduce you. Ruthven, this is my classmate Eric, and his brother Jacob...."

 

Ruthven and Gloria seemed to be childhood friends, and they were happily playing Exploding Snap with the brothers when Harry left to meet Ron and Hermione. Past the mirror, the wall lines were already glowing. Harry set a password on the door behind him and moved toward the sound of low voices. His friends were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, facing each other. Ron lifted from his slouch at the sight of Harry. 

"Hi," he said. 

"Hi," Harry answered. "Sorry to keep you waiting." 

"How was the mixed-house room?" Hermione asked brightly. 

"Good." Harry couldn't keep the grin from his face. "The two Slytherin kids that Draco and I introduced to the Gryffindors over the holiday showed up, and the reluctant one turns out to be a friend of Gloria Clarke, who immediately introduced him to another Hufflepuff."

"Proud of yourself?" Ron asked. 

" _Yes_ , actually. I think it will make things better." 

"Right. And what will they do if one of them turns out to be a Muggleborn?"

"Since they got along with Sajid, I think they'll manage." Harry plopped down in the puffy armchair across from the others. "And those two boys have a Muggle mum, as Gloria knows." 

Hermione's cheeks dimpled. "The Parcheesi brothers?" 

"Exactly." 

Ron snorted. He apparently remembered that story. "Time will tell, I guess. Now, Malfoy Manor....

"Yes?" 

Hermione cleared her throat. "You said you weren't going." 

"We were in the Great Hall!" 

"But you could have told us later." 

Harry sighed. "Maybe. It wasn't settled for several days. I could have told you after that, but I was afraid you'd argue with me, and someone who heard about the invitation would guess what we were fighting about. The last day or two of term, I thought I could, but then-- well, it was never a good time."

Ron thumped back against the arm of the sofa with an explosive sigh. Hermione took a long breath. "Security?" she said. 

"Well, Snape came with me--"

"Oh, _that_ would help!" Ron exclaimed.

"Some," Hermione said.

"-- AND was there the whole time. I stayed out of sight when people came to help with set-up -- a big part of the plan was that no one would know in advance. Tonks was there -- she and Snape know each other, by the way -- as one of Draco's French cousins. She made sure I didn't drink the doctored champagne at the toast--"

"Someone tried to poison you?" Hermione gasped. 

"No. Narcissa Malfoy adds some sort of peace potion to the champagne, so that people are less likely to fight, at least physically. It's apparently pretty well known, and a few guests avoid it, but mostly people go along. I suppose it's polite. Anyway, the idea is that I didn't drink it, but most of the people around me would have, giving me an edge. I also had a ring that let me sense anyone near me drawing a wand, but that wasn't as useful as I expected. It heated up so often that I stopped noticing it. Oh, and don't tell anyone about that, because the potion we made it with isn't entirely legal."

Hermione sighed. "Professor Snape's idea?" 

"Tonks's, actually."

"Oh!" 

"It's not entirely _illegal_ either, but it is restricted to Aurors and such." 

"Do you still have this ring?"

"No, and it wouldn't work if I did. The effect only lasts a couple of days." 

Hermione frowned. "What is the potion?" 

"Beast Hunter's Mark, but at a high concentration -- not the formula you drink, which would be all right for anyone." 

She nodded. He knew she would know more about it than he did by the end of the day, which made him think he should have talked to them before. 

"So it was okay?" Ron asked. "No one went after you?" 

"Not exactly." Harry took a quick breath. "Dinner with Narcissa -- and Draco and Snape -- was fine. Rather fun, actually. The next day was okay too. Then the ball started. Draco was busy, but he'd invited Gilbert and Linnet, so they were there -- Gloria as well, though I didn't actually talk to her."

"And a lot of people you wouldn't speak to were there as well, I assume."

Harry nodded quickly. "Yeah. Pansy's dad went out of his way to come over and call me a 'mongrel'. That was the worst of it for a few hours, but then I went walking in the gardens with Esmée--" 

"Esmée?" 

"One of Draco's prospective wives -- but not anymore, I guess."

Ron leered. "Was she _good_?" 

"Ron!" Hermione chided. 

"Why does everyone assume that?" 

"Because 'walking in the gardens?'"

"Right -- like you and I didn't at the Yule Ball. We were _talking_ , Ron. That was all." Harry shook his hair off his forehead. "Anyway, Draco _assumed_ too, and followed us, and while were arguing, Mr. Parkinson attacked." 

"But you got away?" 

"Sort of." Harry sent Hermione a quick smile. "Snape's been teaching me wandless magic, you know. The lessons came in handy." He hesitated. "Though if I hadn't managed, Snape still would have been in time to save me. His curse went right over Mr. Parkinson while he was falling from mine." 

Everyone was silent. Harry couldn't think how to continue. It was Hermione who finally, gently, spoke. 

"Is this connected to his death?"

Harry laughed hollowly. "You might say that. Voldemort sent me his head as a 'present,' along with a note saying he'd have sent someone more competent."

Hermione's face twisted. Ron snorted. "Well, we know _that's_ not true." He leaned over awkwardly to give Harry an encouraging punch in the shoulder. "Don't let it get to you." 

"You didn't see the head," Harry managed. He thought he had put the feeling behind him, but it came back as strong as the first moment of recognition. 

"I thought you hadn't been close."

"Not very, but still -- more than close enough." He shuddered. "And the letter....." He couldn't continue.

"Is this why Pansy wants to talk to you?" Hermione ventured. 

"Yeah." 

"You've said no, right?" Ron pleaded. 

"Actually, I've said yes, but it's--"

"She'll blame you!"

"She did at first, but I think she--" 

"It's a trap!" 

"Draco will be there," Harry said. He steeled himself. "And Hermione, and--"

Ron's face darkened. "Then I will too!" he roared.

"We're bringing two people apiece. Only."

"Why her and not me?"

"Because I heard about it first," Hermione said firmly, turning towards him, "and threw _exactly_ the sort of fit you're throwing now. I understand, and we'll tell you when, and arrange a place to meet." 

"I'm coming!" 

"You are not," Harry said. 

"Because you don't trust me?"

"Because I won't go back on my word!" That set Ron back. Harry knew he had better make his case fast, before he recovered. "Pansy Parkinson and I have an agreement. I'm sticking to that agreement. _However_ , if we can come up with a way to let you know if it all goes wrong, I'd love to have you nearby." 

Ron ran a hand through his hair. He suddenly looked tired again. "All right." 

"Look, Ron, I know I can trust you, and I know you're good in a fight...."

"It doesn't _seem_ like you know you can trust me! You didn't tell me about Malfoy Manor, you didn't tell me about this--"

" _This_ is new this morning! Hermione happened to be there when Pansy dropped the note in my school bag in Potions! When could I have told you before now?"

Ron considered that. His shoulders came down. "All right. I still think you should have told us about the Malfoys'." 

"Probably," Harry allowed. The way Ron's eyes widened made him wince. "I didn't want to tell one of you first, and telling both of you-- It was never a good time, but I should have made it time." 

There was an awkward silence.

"We've decided to return to being just friends," Hermione said softly. 

" _She's_ decided!" Ron shrugged into Hermione's glare. "Though she might be right, at least for now." 

"I think it's a good idea," Harry said, as casually as he could manage. 

"One you might consider in your own case," Ron shot back. 

"Draco and I--" Harry realized his voice had risen and brought it down again. "I think our issues are more external. If it was just us...." 

"Was his mum decent to you?" 

"Yeah." Harry reconsidered. "Well, after the first hour. She thought it was funny to direct me to a chair that dumped out non-purebloods." 

Hermione sat up with a start. "And you tolerated that?" 

"Hardly. I changed it to do something else." 

"But you forgave her." 

" _After_ she laughed about being similarly dumped." Harry grinned. "Draco was embarrassed, but she was really rather fun. Definitely nicer after being impressed, though." 

"Narcissa Malfoy was _impressed_ that you dumped her on the floor?" 

"She was impressed that I _could_." 

Hermione grimaced. "I see." 

 

"Were should we meet?" Harry asked that evening, as he turned a piece of parchment on the stone table. He and Draco had been composing a reply to Pansy. 

"I had thought the Uncommon Room." 

Harry shook his head. "I don't trust her. Would Snape let us use his office, do you think?" 

"No. I've already asked. He said if we met in any space of his, he would need to be there."

"That could be all right." 

"But she wouldn't trust anything you said in front of a professor." 

Harry pushed to his feet. He paced to the water and back. "We could go out on the grounds somewhere."

"In January?" 

"We have warming charms."

"But no one will feel comfortable. I don't mean just temperature," Draco added hastily. "I mean in the sense of feeling protected." 

Harry studied him for a moment before making sense of it. "You want to show your room off!" 

Draco lifted his head. "And if I do?" 

"Look, that's fine. It's brilliant. But what if she sends Filch there?" 

"I think we could prevent that." 

"Oh?" 

"Pansy, as most people, is aware that we _must_ have places that we meet." In a few steps, Draco joined him. "I believe she will agree to Misdirection hexes on her and the members of her contingent. If we take them up and down a few staircases, they won't even know what floor they're on."

"The mirror's a bit of a giveaway."

"True. We'll need to disguise that. I've been thinking about it. I'll show Hermione how to set the image of the facing wall in it, so it reflects nothing else, and she can set the charm before we arrive and lift it after we leave."

"I could do that!" 

"Yes, darling -- but I'm counting on you to help with the Misdirection hex. It helps to have one caster per subject." 

"Who's our third?" 

"Gilbert, of course. He quite enjoys the Uncommon Room gatherings, as you may have noticed. I am certain he will want to safeguard that." 

Harry frowned. "It's not just ours." 

Draco scowled. "I _won't_ have her in our clubhouse." 

"Yes, but . . . We should ask the others, I think." 

After a moment's pause, Draco sighed. "I suppose you're right." 

"We'll discuss it tomorrow night, then." Harry looked back at the table, and the woefully short reply to Pansy. "Can I just say Saturday, and tell her you'll fill her in on the details that morning?" 

"That would be ideal. It shows caution on your part, and she will infer you are under my influence, which will alleviate her discomfort." 

"I quite enjoy being under your influence." 

Draco shifted closer. "Entirely mutual. Hm. Might I influence you to remove those robes?" 

"Oh, I don't know. It's a bit cool down here." 

"Then I shall have to make it warmer." 

Harry was briefly disappointed when Draco drew his wand. However, rather than casting a warming charm around them, he cast one on his left hand, and then slid it around the back of Harry's neck. 

"Ah." Harry felt the hairs behind the touch rise, sending sensation up his scalp. He stretched back into the contact. 

"You're beautiful like that," Draco whispered. His other hand twisted at the top fastening of Harry's robes. It popped open over Harry's thick breaths, as did the next. He reached lower, warming a trail from Harry's neck to his chest. 

"I--" Harry thought he should be doing something equally inventive, but he couldn't, for the life of him, think what. 

"Shh." Warmth drew back over his ribs and up to his shoulder blades, and then looped down and forward again. Harry waited motionless as Draco brushed tantalizingly along the waistband of his jeans only to continue up, over his chest, and then return to his shoulder. 

The robes were pushed back and fell to the floor. The weight dropping from his shoulders released him from his daze, and Harry seized Draco for a long kiss. Draco pressed close, squirming against him, the warmed hand now pulling on Harry's arse. 

Harry lifted his mouth. "Bed?" 

Draco stopped moving. "No," he said, suddenly cool. "I'd rather you stayed there, I think." He looked down. For a moment, Harry thought he might drop to his knees. Instead, he stepped back. 

"I took advantage of the library," he said teasingly, his wand sliding from his sleeve. 

"Oh?" 

"Yes. Father had some rather _interesting_ books." His face barely tightened at the mention of his father. It was only a moment before his lip twitched up again. _"Fluxi Vestitus!"_

Harry yelped. It felt like he had jumped into a river. His jeans, shirt, tie, socks, and shoes turned to a thick liquid that poured down his body and away across the floor. He caught his wand out of reflexive panic at losing it. Before he could protest, the clothes resumed their original form, laid out like a police outline on the stone. 

"There," Draco stepped closer and stroked -- his hand still heated -- down Harry's naked body, warm fingers just brushing the tip of his cock. "Cushioning charm, darling? The floor's much too hard for my knees." 

"Um..." The image that conjured was not conducive to concentration. Harry took a quick breath and threw all the will he could muster into casting. A moment later, he was tilting with a yelp -- echoed by Draco -- as the floor went squishy under his feet. He threw himself back upright . . . into Draco's flailing arm. They grabbed at each other and tumbled down to the stone, which felt less like a mattress than a pile of feather-stuffed duvets. Harry exploded into laughter, and was gratified to hear Draco do the same. 

As he was winding down to huffs, Draco said "typically vigorous," which set them both off again. 

The hilarity faded to soft touches, then kisses. Harry was gaining control until Draco rolled up onto his knees. He stroked his still warm hand down Harry's body, and up along his cock. It lengthened to follow the touch. 

"I have reconsidered," Draco purred, shifting down. "The charm was _perfect._ " He licked up Harry's thigh and further in, lifting Harry's cock to expose the soft skin below, and running his mouth back and forth it, before concentrating his efforts at the base of Harry's shaft. 

It was all Harry could do to breathe. 

Draco took him in, and for an ageless time there was nothing else but Draco's mouth on his cock and Draco's skin under his hands, and glimpses of Draco's bright hair and reddened lips when he curled up for moments of sight before falling back into the flood of sensation. Wet suction and rude slurps mixed with softer sounds of pleasure. His own cries, uncontrollable, echoed in the stone hall as he rode the wave of climax. 

When the last shudders cleared, he looked groggily forward to see Draco lifting his head with a smirk. Grinning, Harry rolled him over to return the pleasure, drinking in his scent and the softness of his skin, and the silky liquid at his tip under Harry's touch. 

 

Afterwards, they lay together, sprawled in a loose embrace, until Harry's charm began to fade and the floor grew hard. Sighing, Draco pulled his left arm out from under Harry's neck, and Harry his right leg from under Draco's left. 

"Time to return to school, I suppose," Draco sighed. 

"Must we?" 

"If you want to be awake enough for Friday night, yes." 

Draco sighed again -- more, Harry thought, than Friday's agenda warranted. 

"Is something wrong?"

"No, of course not."

"But?"

"It's nothing. Just ...." Draco looked away. "I didn't want _any_ of them." 

"Who?" 

"The women my mother brought." 

"Well, that was predictable, wasn't it? I mean, you don't like women that way." 

Draco, who had stood to draw his clothes on, scowled down at him. "But you'd be perfectly happy with one, wouldn't you? Esmée, even. No, don't look like that! I'm not accusing." 

Harry bit his lip. "If I found a woman that I _loved_ , then yes. I think so. But --" 

"Forget I said anything."

"But you're upset." 

"Not at _you_!" Draco looked down to where he was buttoning his shirt. "I'm just not looking forward to it, that's all -- a loveless relationship without even the amelioration of lust. I'd always known it would come to that, but having _both_ with you makes it harder."

Harry pushed to his feet. "I think--" 

Draco's hand cut down in front of his mouth. " _No._ I don't want to argue about it. And I am terribly sorry for spoiling the mood, and I promise to not mope next time."

"I'm not upset," Harry protested. "And we don't need to argue. You could just talk." 

"We would argue," Draco asserted. "And that will be fine for some other time -- we can do it civilly -- but I am too tired tonight." 

Harry considered that as he pulled his shirt over his head. Draco looked twitchy, rather than tired, as if he would plot, rather than sleep. "And too worried about Pansy?" he guessed. 

Draco froze. For a moment, he bit his lip, and then nodded. "Yes. She's too angry for comforting, but it hurts to see her hurt." 

"Oh." Harry held him tight until Draco relented, leaning against him. "She needs time," he said. 

"I don't have time." 

"You have until June, at least. We all do." 

 

The Uncommon Room filled up early on Friday. All the Hufflepuffs and half the Gryffindors had arrived before Draco had finished arranging the food. Harry thought everyone must be eager to talk about their holidays -- or eager to be back with friends. 

"There you are!" Parvati called to him when she arrived with her sister and Sophia. She waved a large envelope back and forth. "I brought clippings! Everything I found on you at the Malfoy Ball." She smiled over at Draco, who was just dusting the fruit with glittering sugar. "Draco, did you know your mother was seen at Casa Byron with Andromeda Tonks?" 

Some pear slices received an indelicate dump of white crystals.

"She-- what?" Draco turned, his face pale. "When was this?" 

With a triumphant smile, Parvati pulled out the top sheet. "Yesterday. 'Sisters sharing sangria and tapas at Dover's best--'"

"Give me that!" 

Draco yanked the coarse parchment, a cutting from the Daily Prophet, from Parvati's grasp. Only her willingness to let go kept it from being ripped. Harry watched his eyes flick back and forth as he scanned it, and then rise again to read it more slowly. His breathing was beginning to steady, but when Harry moved a hand under his, he grasped it tightly. 

"Well?" Gilbert drawled from his armchair. "I'm quite breathless with curiosity."

Dropping his hold on Harry, Draco rolled his eyes. "Shall I read aloud?"

"Please do." 

Draco cleared his throat. "Sisters sharing sangria and tapas at Dover's best Spanish restaurant would hardly be remarkable at most times. But when those sisters are Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks --both née Black -- the meeting might be noted well beyond the society pages." He lowered the clipping. "For those of you _not_ immersed in pureblood society, I have never _met_ Andromeda Tonks. She was disowned before I was born, and we did not speak of her. I have recently become friendly with her daughter -- an Auror who has protected me on several occasions, including Father's trial and Mr. Parkinson's funeral -- and do consider her a cousin." He looked at Harry. "We did have some warning."

"Warning?" Harry asked, confused. 

"In my mother's letter. That she might accept Tonks as a kinswoman." 

"Oh, right." 

"Are you going to read or not?" Blaise challenged. 

Draco looked squarely back at the article. "As those of a certain age may remember," he read dramatically, "Cygnus Black publicly disowned his second daughter in a paid full-page announcement more worthy of a noble marriage, colorfully denouncing her elopement with a Muggleborn classmate. There has been no indication that Narcissa has spoken to her sister since. Certainly we cannot imagine Lucius Malfoy countenancing it, or the notorious eldest sister, the late Bellatrix Black Lestrange, not punishing it.

"'Yet here they were, dipping bread in the same skillet of sizzling garlic oil, heads close together, now giggling, now serious, keeping their words locked behind a powerful privacy charm -- possibly blood-linked. Have they been clandestinely in contact all these years? Or has sororal affection, long constrained by fear, been freed to bloom now that two violent Death Eaters are out of Narcissa's life?" 

Draco's hand dropped to his side, the parchment fluttering. "Dear Merlin. She could not hope for better press." 

Gilbert frowned. "Some might take offense." 

"Gilbert. She spoke against Father at his trial. Anyone who 'takes offense' has already cut her off." 

"I'm not sure that's true. She was ill-treated, and entitled to defend herself. Socializing in public with--" Gilbert's face scrunched up. He sighed. "I mean, treating her as a _sister_ against her parents' wishes--"

"Because she married a Muggleborn!" Hermione interjected. 

" _I'm_ not one who would take offense, Granger," Gilbert retorted. "But even at this year's ball, I saw more than a few strident 'pureblood means pure' types at Malfoy Manor, and at least three people that I suspect are active Voldemort supporters." 

"See?" Ron said earnestly to Harry. "You shouldn't have gone."

"But now Narcissa is talking to her sister," Harry retorted. "So it helped. It made things better." 

"Do you think that was you?" Linnet asked. 

The question was more curious than reproving, and Harry looked towards Draco, who nodded minutely. Harry set his shoulders back. 

"Tonks protecting Draco probably had a lot to do with it."

"But first _you_ ," Draco said, "and the conversations we had about it, both together and after you left. She was favorably impressed." His lip quirked. "Also intrigued." 

"But if there were Death Eaters you didn't know about--" Hermione fretted. 

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Who says I didn't know?"

She huffed. 

"You can't be sure, Harry," Ron objected. "Draco may know some people--" 

"And _Snape_ , who was there, knows anyone who was in as of last spring." 

Linnet nodded. "He is an ally, then?" 

"An extremely helpful one." 

"I had thought it likely, but you've never said outright." 

"Oh. Yes, he's been helping me with a number of things." 

Glances went from sofa to sofa to chair. "So those detentions...?" Susan asked delicately. 

Harry laughed. "I may have overstepped. But I'm not scrubbing cauldrons the entire time." 

The conversation, he saw, had given Draco time to recover, although he looked a little too bored for it to be entirely sincere as he straightened and handed the article back to Parvati. 

"Here. Anything else entertaining?" 

"Oh, seven about the ball itself, and who danced with whom, with special note of Harry's partners, and of yours." She bit her lip. "And some less amusing ones after the head was found, of course." 

"Hm. Are you stalking me or Harry?"

She giggled, as she was probably intended to. "Don't be vain. I've _always_ read these columns. Seeing my classmates in them is new, but you can't expect me not to clip them when it happens." She waved about a clutch of articles. "Does anyone want to read about the ball?" 

Hermione tried to take all the clippings, but Parvati restricted her to one, and passed others to Susan, Hannah, Gilbert, Linnet, and -- after Millicent looked away with a scowl -- a rather angry Ron. The last, she pressed upon Harry. He eyed it with morbid curiosity. Rustles and giggles filled the room. 

"What rot!" Harry exclaimed. 

Linnet fluttered her eyelashes at him, hands clasped over her heart. "Dearest! We cannot hide our love!" 

"Oh, give me that!" Draco exclaimed. He frowned over her clipping and outright scowled at Harry's. 

"Um. You do know I'm not into Linnet, right?" 

"Yes, of course, but -- 'no sign of affection' between us?"

"Well, there wasn't," Harry said reasonably. "You wouldn't let me get within ten yards of you." 

"It wasn't entirely...." Draco swallowed. "I was afraid we'd fight. Or I'd kiss you. Or I'd agree not to meet with one of them." 

"Mine says you had a spat in the gardens," Susan offered. 

"There!" Harry said. "Some of it's true." 

"Who's this Esmée person?" 

"A nice French girl," Harry said, as Draco said, "Some plotting cow my mother picked out."

"Draco!" 

"Oh, all right. She is pretty." 

"And you can't hate her for plotting! You plot all the time!" 

"Yes, but she pulled _you_ into it." Draco straightened his cuffs. "I apologize for ignoring you." 

"Okay." Harry shrugged. "I'm not angry with you about it." 

"But you were." 

"A little." Harry patted the cushion next to him. "Come and sit down." 

"We're going to have that party in June," Draco said, settling next to him.

"Of course." 

"I mean it." Draco raised his head and looked around the room. "Everyone! Party at Malfoy Manor after we leave school. You are _all_ invited. I have already cleared it with Mother." 

Millicent stared. Hermione bit her lip. 

"Muggleborns and Weasleys and all?" Gilbert exclaimed. 

"Yes. I mentioned Hermione specifically." Draco smiled at her. "You'll need to stay out of the library, I'm afraid. Many of the books are restricted to specific bloodlines, and my ancestors were not _at all_ restrained with their curses." 

"All right." Harry announced, handing the article back to Parvati. "It's time for some serious business." 

"Choosing cake?" Linnet asked hopefully.

"I have a question for the group. Also, I think we need a way to call a meeting for when something can't wait for next Friday." 

There was a moment's silence. 

"What _sort_ of thing?" Gilbert asked. 

"Does it matter?" Cornelia shot back. 

"Perhaps. I might not want to walk into a battle, for example." 

"Not that!" Harry protested, but Draco shushed him. 

"It might come to that, at some point." 

There was a long silence.

"Could we have different signals for, say, danger versus a council?" Blaise asked. 

Hermione seemed to be scanning the memory of a library shelf. "That gets complicated."

"But I'd been thinking of using our beads," Blaise pressed. 

"Well yes." 

"And rather than have the whole string glow or heat or cool or vibrate, why not have a particular bead for ... well, the particular sort of crisis?" 

"Oh, that works! Then we can use a basic charm but apply it to multiple sets." 

"Gryffindor colors for battle or danger?" Linnet suggested. 

"Exactly."

Draco raised his head. "And Slytherin if we need to devise a plan."

"Ravenclaw for research or invention," Sophia contributed. 

"Great!" Harry said. "So Hufflepuff--" He hesitated. 

Susan Bones straightened from the sofa she shared with Linnet and Caradog. "Hufflepuff for when we need support," she said firmly. "For bringing us together, without excuse." 

Harry, humbled, nodded. "Right."

Blaise leaned over from his chair to speak to speak to Hermione, at the end of the next couch. He looked flushed. Harry wondered if he was using the Gargoyle dust again. He had meant to talk to him about that. 

"So what was your question?" Susan asked. 

"Oh." Harry realized that others were looking at him. Now that it came to it, Harry felt awkward. "Pansy Parkinson wanted to meet with me, and I was considering here--" 

"Absolutely not!" Gilbert snapped, under Millicent's "Bad idea," and Ron's harsh "No!" and other, quieter protests. 

"We'd thought a Misdirection hex --"

"Clever, Draco, but they can be unraveled." 

"You must have other places," Parvati said.

"Well, yes, but they're not subtle."

"Don't make it someplace secret then."

"She wants privacy--"

"That's not the same."

"And a bad idea." 

"The Quiris' room," Hermione said briskly, leaning forward. "It will help ease the mood as well." She looked at Draco. "Unless you think she can't." 

Draco shrugged. "Not too likely. I could certainly ask, but she's not inclined to extracurricular study." 

"You shouldn't meet with her anywhere!" Ron exclaimed. "She's always been awful to you. Tell her no." 

"I'll come along," Cornelia said. "Mill, Ginny, Caradog, you're in, right?" 

"Righto." 

Waving his hands for silence, Harry stood. "Thank you all, but no. We're bringing two people apiece, plus Draco, and I'm set." 

"So you're not entirely an idiot," Mill snarled. 

"Mill...." 

"She _hates_ you, Harry."

"Thank you!" said Ron. 

"Considering recent events," Draco said tightly, "she might have cause to reevaluate."

"Reevaluate," Ron mocked. "A leopard doesn't change its spots." 

Harry glared. "Voldemort killed her father. You might have a little more sympathy." 

"Her father! Her father was an arse-kissing lackey to that--"

Harry's heart froze on the words. He forced out the breath that had hissed in. "So what! He was her _Dad_. She loved him." 

Ron silenced. Malfoy coughed slightly. 

"She says 'Papa,' actually, but you are right about the sentiment. I found her crying in the Common Room an hour after lights out, last night."

"I..." Ron had actually gone pale, his freckles standing out on his cheeks, as they had when news of Mr. Weasley's death had reached them two years before. "But he's a rich pureblood who was trying-- trying to--" 

Draco sneered. "The Dark Lord does not care. And the more purebloods who understand that, the better for us all, whether your line be pure or mixed or new." 

"Yes," Susan said. "Well put." 

Draco's eyes met hers, and then closed for a moment. Harry tried to pull him close, but he stayed stiffly upright. "Trust me, Ron Weasley," he said. "Mr. Parkinson felt every bit as righteous as you do. As he was betrayed, that is of no comfort to her." Finally, he sagged against Harry, one hand belatedly waving towards the sideboard. "Get food everyone. Then let's play." 

 

They decided on long, curved beads for the signals, to increase skin contact for the warmth that would alert them to a summons. They communally agreed that would be better than the bead lighting up. The challenges of _I Never_ tended towards boasts of holiday adventures more than things aimed at others. Ron scowled when Harry and Draco -- and two others -- took beads for Sophia's "stayed all night with a lover," but the mood, overall, remained light. Harry thought this term might be even better than the last.

 


	44. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I haven't been reproducing the original posting dates on every chapter, but this one is right -- this chapter is new! Enjoy!

_Negotiations_

 

On Saturday afternoon, Harry waited in the Quiris' room with Hermione and Gilbert, their low conversation and occasional coos to the Quiris fading into the background. He was studying a long green and silver bead on his second bracelet. He rotated the cord to one in yellow and black, and then again to one in red and gold. The first two were still just colored glass, but the Gryffindor Summoning bead felt alive under his fingers. Hermione had charmed that lot the night before, and before breakfast, she had distributed them to the Gryffindor members -- Ron, Ginny, Cornelia, Seamus, Parvati, and Neville. Afterwards, everyone but Harry had gone to meet the people from other houses who insisted on being his backup for the meeting -- Millicent, Caradog, Susan, and Blaise -- in a classroom down the corridor and around the corner. They probably all had signal beads as well, now. Harry, instead, had met Gilbert and Draco, and had led Gilbert up here. Soon, Draco would join them with Pansy and her supporters. She had not objected to the venue, but it had meant dropping Cassandra from the group. 

"The little tit was letting her cousin show her a curse or two over the holidays," Draco had said grimly when he updated Harry after breakfast. The cousin in question had been Sylvester Avery, the Death Eater's nephew, and one of the attackers at Mr. Parkinson's funeral. "She told Sebastian about it after his brother's arrest. By Pansy's account, he berated her until he was out of breath and then cried on her shoulder. The Veres all think the attack unconscionable -- on fellow purebloods and at a solemn occasion besides -- and the remaining Averys are at each other's throats by all accounts. Sabrina -- Sylvester and Sebastian's sister -- has actually left the country, breaking off an engagement via her lawyer, which was scandalous enough to make the Daily Prophet."

Now, Harry found himself thinking that Parvati might know more about that. 

Gilbert laughed, drawing Harry from his thoughts. He looked over to see that Cheefi had grasped a lock of Hermione's hair and was holding it over his own head like a toupee. Tuktuk seemed to find this quite as funny as Gilbert did.

"It does not suit your complexion, sir," Gilbert said, flicking the hair to one side. Cheefi froze, and for a moment, Harry thought he had objected to the touch. Then they heard a warning knock at the door -- not the dungeon door, as Harry had expected, but the one to the second floor. Harry wondered if Draco was keeping the dungeon entrance a secret.

"Ah. He heard footsteps." 

Harry did not draw his wand as the door opened, but he could see Hermione's hand at hers. Draco was the first to enter, and he held the door open for the girls. Pansy, behind him, was looking grim. A stride into the room, she stopped. 

"Oh!"

Harry had considered what effect the Quiris might have on Pansy if she was doing Dark Arts, but not if she wasn't. Her face lit with wonder as she stepped cautiously forward. "May I...?"

Draco took her hand. "Tuktuk!" 

The light gold of Tuktuk's coat shimmered as she jumped to one of the climbing frames, bounded across it and leapt to the next, and the next, and the next, and then swung down a few feet from Draco. From there, she advanced more slowly, studying Pansy cautiously. Pansy stood very still, not even flinching when the Quiri jumped to Draco's shoulder. From that perch, Tuktuk reached out, one hand softly patting Pansy's cheek. 

"I..."

Harry thought her eyes might be starting to water.

"Do you want to hold her? She's very soft." 

"Yes, please." 

Once her face was hidden into Tuktuk's golden mane, Pansy trembled. "Stupid," she muttered half-heartedly. 

"It's all right," Draco said. "They can be overwhelming when you're under stress. I met them right before going home to be 'presented' last Easter, and I sobbed like a toddler and then ran away when Professor Horsyr tried to talk to me."

Pansy wiped her eyes and turned her back to the room. "Here," she said, trying for a business-like tone, and almost succeeding. "Daphne, hold him, if he'll let you." 

"Her," Draco corrected. "Come here, Daphne, and let's see what she thinks." 

Tuktuk apparently thought Daphne was fine, but being held again was not. She climbed up onto Daphne's head -- sending Astoria into gales of laughter -- and refused to get down until Draco lifted her off and back to the climbing structure. 

"Sorry," he said, as she swung away to the window, and Daphne attempted to smooth her hair. "I should socialize them more. I sometimes think they're almost Beings, but that doesn't make them civilized."

The tension of the entry had dissolved in the chaos. Astoria drew her wand, but only to cast a smoothing charm on her sister's hair. Harry looked over at Pansy to find her eyeing him uncertainly. 

"Come in," he said, gesturing to the sofas and chairs clustered nearer the windows. "A House Elf brought the furniture this morning -- it's not covered with fur or anything."

"Horrors," Hermione said mockingly.

"Quite," Pansy snapped back.

"Thank you, Potter," Astoria said calmly. She crossed to an end chair and sat in it primly, legs crossed at the knee. Daphne started to move across the room, but Hermione and Gilbert were in the loveseat there, and she swerved back to the chair near her sister. That left a curved sofa in the neutral zone, and Harry took one end. Draco escorted Pansy over and sat between them. Harry supposed that made sense; she'd be able to look at both of them that way. It also put the Greengrass girls behind her, and Hermione and Gilbert behind him. 

The Quiris, however, had perched on a slanted bar behind Draco. For a few seconds, they stayed unusually still, as if sensing the rising tension in the room. Tuktuk stroked a long hand through Cheefi's mane, but without real attention. 

"So," Harry said to Pansy. "Would you like to cast the Privacy charm?"

"It's not as if I'd trust yours."

"That's what I thought." Harry leaned back. "Go ahead then." 

Eyes narrowing, she drew her wand. For a moment, it pointed directly at him, but she wasn't sighting down it. He kept his hands in his lap. He could get a wandless Shield spell up in time, he was certain. 

Her wand tip lifted -- finally -- spiraling around her in a Privacy charm, cast high enough to include the three of them. Draco relaxed back into the cushions. 

"Tell me about the end." 

The demand was fierce and low. Harry would have taken offence if the last word hadn't had the flat push of someone trying not to sob. 

"I wasn't there," he said gently. The Quiris were circling curiously outside the charmed area "I can tell you about when I saw him last."

"The Dark Lord _told_ you why he killed him. I heard that much." 

"Oh, yes." Disgust welled in him at the memory. "It was in a letter, though."

"Really?" She didn't look like she believed him. Harry wondered what, exactly, she had heard. Had Kingsley mentioned something in establishing what the Aurors believed to have happened? If the investigation was concluded, he might have. Perhaps he had even said something about that voice. 

"A _talking_ letter," he said. "Like a Howler, but not. A blue thing."

Her mouth twisted from incredulity to outrage. It was several seconds before she could speak. "A Greeter?" she choked. "He told you this in a ... a ... a _card_?"

Draco reached out to both of them. Harry took his hand and held it tightly. Pansy's arms crossed over her chest. 

"Ending with 'Happy Christmas, my destined kill,'" Harry affirmed. "He knew I wouldn't be pleased. It was a threat, aping friendliness to make it worse."

She was silent for several seconds, her mouth moving, then closing. She bit her lip. "May I see it?" 

"You'd have to ask the Aurors. I saw it in front of K-- Auror Shacklebolt, and he took it as evidence." Harry made a face. "Not that I _wanted_ to keep it, or anything. It was disgusting." 

She shrank back. "I saw his body." 

Her voice was barely audible, and a faint, sympathetic "oh," came out before he could stop it. He sounded like a girl. Draco gave up waiting for Pansy to take his hand and moved it to her shoulder. 

"I saw the head on the gate," Harry shared quietly. "Not close enough to identify -- I was afraid it was Snape, actually, until the letter." 

"Snape?" That jolted her from the edge of tears. "Papa looked nothing like Professor Snape!" 

"Yeah, but --" He stopped. He couldn't tell her about hanging stuff; that would be too awful. "I wasn't close, like I said, and I just saw, well, dark hair. And on the Hogwart's gates, it was clearly a message to the school, and I assumed a Death Eater move."

"Why?" she asked, puzzled. "I mean, why Death Eaters?" 

"A head on a gate?" Harry replied, equally confused.

Draco sighed. "Barbaric spectacle," he explained. "Pansy, he's quite right. It's their hallmark. Although I haven't heard of them using this particular act before, I also would have assumed Death Eaters from the exhibition of a victim." His hand fell from her shoulder. "Perhaps we should move back to the beginning. Harry?"

"Okay." He focused back on Pansy. "Um, I was at the Malfoy Christmas Ball, as you know. Your father was one of the people who let me know he thought I shouldn't be, but . . ." He shrugged. "Anyway, later, I left the hall -- I'd been in a dance where your partner changes, and I'd ended up with a girl who was there as a prospective match for Draco, and she said we should talk privately, so we went out in the gardens."

"So you were looking for trouble." 

"No, I was trying to have a complicated conversation." He glared into her sneer. "I had ways to detect someone approaching, and I was paying attention -- until Draco joined us, and started arguing with me." 

"He didn't want her with you?" she said acidly. "Or didn't want _you_ with her?" 

"One of those," Harry agreed. "And nothing was going on. But I stopped paying attention to anything else until she screamed. I turned to her, and the branches of the dogwood had grabbed her. I turned back to a Disarmament Charm from your father. Draco was already petrified." 

"So--" She frowned, then straightened. "Never mind. Continue." 

"So . . . yeah. He went back to saying I didn't belong there, and then said I would make a good present for 'someone'. He was obviously planning to bring me to Voldemort. So when he raised his wand again, I Stupefied him." 

"He'd disarmed you! You said -- you're lying to me!"

"You know, carrying a second wand is only a problem if you do it regularly. It works just fine for an evening." That wasn't actually a lie, he told himself. The statement was true, if irrelevant. 

Her eyes narrowed, but that was better than her previous wide-eyed distress. "But a Disarmament charm should have--" 

"Not if it's clipped in, and the charm is targeted," Draco contributed, shoring up the misdirection.

Pansy scowled. "So now my father is helpless in the Malfoy gardens with only you there." 

"Well, not really. Esmée can't move, but she's _there_ , and Snape shows up just as he falls."

"Lovely timing." 

"Exactly. So I shout at him for not protecting me like he was supposed to, and he shouts at me for not staying in sight, and I revive Draco, but he looks like he's going to join in. At that point, I decided I'd had enough, and I took my emergency Portkey to someplace quieter." 

She was silent for a moment. "You had an emergency Portkey." 

"Yes." 

"Then why didn't you just run away to begin with?" She took a breath, and tossed her hair back carelessly. The gesture didn't work. " _Now_ they know to look for a second wand." 

"I -- I was angry," Harry admitted. "And I couldn't leave the others helpless with an attacker. Yeah, as soon as I had half a minute to think about it, I realized they were probably safe with him, but I didn't have time to get to that." 

"So you left him there with Professor Snape and Draco." Pansy swallowed. "Draco?" 

"After Harry vanished...." Draco sent a perfunctory glare at Harry, "Severus and I agreed that Mother should be notified before we revived your father. I released Miss Sinclair -- who removed herself from marital consideration with a few choice words, but allowed me to escort her back to the hall while the professor guarded your father's body.

"Mother was _furious_ when I told her your father had attacked us and Harry. She stalked back with me, floated his unconscious body out the manor gate, revived him in the drive, and told him this was socially unacceptable behavior, and a violation of her hospitality, and that he was not welcome in her home until all parties had received an adequate apology. He replied that he would never apologize to a, quote, 'dirty mongrel like Potter,' unquote, and she set the wards against him to his face." He sighed. "And if it had ended there, the tale would be an amusing one. However, we must speculate that he brought the Dark Lord news of the attempt, thus letting him know that it had failed."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why is that the scenario?" 

"The letter." Harry understood what she wanted now. She had answers from someone -- probably the Aurors -- but not enough information to make sense of them. "Voldemort told me that he had not authorized this attack, and if he had, he would have sent someone more competent. He said the head was for me, to share his, um, 'latest amusement.'" 

"I'll kill him." 

"I think that's my job." Harry sat back. "But I'd appreciate any help." 

She took a long breath. "I spoke rashly." 

"Of course you did. I'm not holding you to anything."

She took a long breath, even letting her eyes close, and, for a moment, she hid her face, before stroking down it. Her voice, when she spoke, was almost even. 

"If you would, I would like a copy of this letter. If it was addressed to you, the Aurors must provide that upon request." 

"Okay." 

She stretched up in her seat. "I still find it implausible that the Dark Lord would execute a loyal supporter for displaying initiative." 

"It's not," Draco said quickly. "Pansy, I went to two Death Eater meetings. He makes them _crawl_ to him to show loyalty. He tortures for minor infractions. Severus has told me of other executions that were kept more private. This is _exactly_ the sort of thing that He does." 

She wiped her eyes. "I feel so -- Mother is being tight-lipped about the findings."

"The investigation has concluded, then." Harry guessed. 

"In less than a week!" 

"Publicly, the MLE has said only that Voldemort claimed responsibility for the killing and that their investigation supports this." Harry wasn't sure why Draco was even saying that. Certainly Pansy would have read that morning's news articles. "I suspect they shared more evidence with your mother under a Confidentiality charm. She would probably have a harder time talking about it than we would about--" he fingered one of his bead bracelets -- "other things." 

"Fine, but isn't _she_ as entitled to information as her mother?" Harry demanded. He turned to Pansy. "I mean, you're his daughter, and an adult." 

"I-- I wasn't offered... I'm not sure how I would petition for that." 

"Tell you what -- since I need to write to Kingsley about the letter, anyway, I'll ask him for you."

Her head came up with a choking cough. "I'm sorry -- Did you just refer to the Head of the Pernicious Activities Division as 'Kingsley'?"

Draco chuckled. "I'm not sure it's entirely cheek, either. They seem to have bonded over the Sirius Black investigation." 

"Well, and that's how Tonks talks about him," Harry protested. 

"Gryffindors do use first names in most cases," Draco agreed, looking innocently skyward.

"She was a _Hufflepuff_." 

"And he was a Ravenclaw. But _you_ are the model of Gryffindor frankness."

With a swirl of her wand, Pansy canceled the Privacy charm. "Thank you, Potter." She stood and offered her hand. "I accept your kind offer. I am inclined to believe you, as you have spoken more frankly to me than anyone else in this debacle, but I will withhold judgment until you produce the supporting evidence." She turned to her supporters. Tuktuk had at some point returned to Daphne and was now comfortably settled between the sisters. The Quiri yawned and stretched back as they rose. 

"Are we done here?" Astoria asked, almost sadly. 

"Yes." 

"I'll bring you back some other time, if you like," Draco offered. 

Draco led Pansy's group out the second-floor door, and the others followed. In the corridor, they parted, Harry, Hermione, and Gilbert heading north to tell their backup team that they were safe, and Pansy's group -- with Draco -- moving south towards the stairs. 

 

Harry was scowling at the beetle he had turned into a quail. While definitely a quail, and properly interested in the cracked corn on his desk, it was also -- according to the pictures that Professor McGonagall had shown them -- a _female_ quail. She had specified that it should be male. Looking around, he saw that most of the other students -- including, surprisingly, Hermione -- had the same problem. Draco, however, had somehow managed to produce the prettier male bird, as had Seamus. 

"Very good," McGonagall said, as if most of them hadn't failed the exercise. "Now, I must observe that many of you were unable to produce a male bird on this attempt. Can you tell me why that is? Mr. Weasley?"

"Because they were female beetles." 

"Hm. Are there any other theories? Mr. Malfoy?"

"Because you _told_ us they were female beetles. Mine was male, actually. I checked." 

"Three points to Slytherin! Yes, they were _all_ male beetles. Transfiguration across species, unlike an animagus transformation, has no bias at all to the original gender. Starting from a male beetle, it should be no harder to produce a female quail than a male quail. You will note that most of you have done so.

"Now, I would like everyone to revert your quail to a beetle, and then try again. Those of you who produced a male bird should now try for the hen."

Sighs tumbled over one another like the uneven return of a wave over rocks. Harry turned to his quail hen, contained on his desk in a green shield. Originally, he had cast a clear shield, but the bird had panicked when it struck the unseen barrier. One by one, agitated -- or in a few cases, contented -- quail fell silent as they were turned to more taciturn beetles.

 

After lessons, Harry went to the mixed house space, as he usually did, but without Draco, who had said he and Hermione, as Head Boy and Girl, had their start of term meeting with the headmaster. Just inside the doorway, Harry paused to see who was there. Gilbert was explaining something to Gloria and Ruthven, pointing at a textbook as he spoke. Sammy and Yolanda were playing a Muggle board game with Eric and Jacob -- Harry didn't recognize the game, but the pieces were plastic, so it was definitely Muggle. Past them, Julian Devary -- that was new! -- was talking eagerly to Sajid. Harry felt a swelling of pride at the sight. These people were together because of what he and Draco had done. 

He claimed an empty table by the window, with another two chairs available, curious to see who might join him. He had no time to find out. No sooner had he sat down when a familiar little girl entered the room. She paused just over the threshold, looking inquisitively around at the gathered people. Julian noticed and waved at her. 

"Miss LeFay! Would you like introductions?"

"No thank you, Mr. Devary." Her clear voice carried across the room. "Draco Malfoy sent me with a message for Harry."

Julian winced, as if expecting an explosion, which she ignored, crossing the room at a dignified pace. It couldn't be too urgent, Harry decided. Neither his notebook nor his beads had heated. Possibly, Draco was just giving her an excuse to come here without betraying interest -- and to show off that she could use his first name, if he'd read Julian's reaction right. When she reached him, he nodded at her, and -- deliberately starting with his wand to the side -- cast a quick spell. 

"There," he said, tucking it away. "You can give me the message now." 

"It's not written." She seemed almost apologetic. "Did you block just sound?" 

"No -- it's a full privacy charm. No one will be able to read our lips, either. They can see broader expressions and movement."

Her eyes widened. "Teach me?" 

He couldn't hold back a smile. "Sorry, but no. You'll need a bunch of third and fourth year Charms first."

"A pity! Well, the message, then. Draco Malfoy says the headmaster has sent for you to come to his office at the hour. He thinks it's Auror business." 

Harry felt a jolt of mingled hope and fear. Auror business could be about Sirius, which could be either very good, or very bad. "And he couldn't come himself before then?" 

"No. He needs to meet with a former professor."

Harry's thoughts raced. If the former professor was Remus, then it was more likely the news was about Sirius. But if it was bad, Draco would have come himself, regardless. "Was it a man in worn clothes?" he asked. 

"The professor wasn't where I could see, but I think it was a woman. Frieda? Unless that's a surname."

"Oh." That threw all his suppositions in turmoil. "No. Frieda Horsyr. She taught Defense Against the Dark Arts last year." He shrugged. "Anyway, since you're here, and I have half an hour, do you want those introductions now? You might as well meet people."

She hesitated, looking over at the youngest group, who were noisily enjoying their game. "Are they all Muggles? Muggleborn, I mean?" 

"Hm. One of that group is, and another is Wizard-born -- I don't know details beyond that. The others -- two brothers -- have a Muggle mother and Wizard father." 

She blushed pink. "I wouldn't know what to say." 

"I'd try 'Do you have room for another?' but if you're not comfortable, you don't have to. Gloria likes them, though -- Gloria Clarke, I mean." 

She took a deep breath. "If you will, then." 

For a Slytherin child, she was brave. He had liked that about her from the start. "You know," he said, "I can't teach you the Privacy charm, but I do owe you tutoring on something. You never collected." 

Her eyes widened. She looked away, blinked, and then turned back with her features schooled to casual interest. "Oh. I wasn't sure how to arrange it." 

"Come here again tomorrow," he said, all the while wondering if she had not thought their bargain sincere, "and follow when I leave. No -- the day after. Tomorrow, let me know what spell you want. I'll tell Draco you'll be passing him a note for me." 

She sniffed. "You need preparation for a second-year charm?"

"To teach?" he challenged. "I might. It's not like just casting, you know." 

 

Harry left Gentian winning handily with the plastic pieces and bonding with Yolanda. When he arrived at the headmaster's office, Auror Shacklebolt answered the door. Harry looked around for Professor Dumbledore and saw him in a chair by the window, seemingly engrossed in a thin book. He didn't believe that for a moment. 

"Hello, sir," he said to Shacklebolt. "Is there news?" 

"News?" 

"About--" Harry stopped. This clearly wasn't what he had hoped. "Sorry. Why did you want to see me, sir?"

Shacklebolt's eyebrows rose. "You _did_ write to me, did you not?" 

Oh. That had been mostly on Pansy's behalf. Harry felt his face heat. "Er, yeah. I wasn't expecting the response in person, though." 

Shacklebolt shrugged. "I happened to be here on other business. A direct meeting seemed easiest, considering your second request." 

"Second -- oh, the report for Pansy?" 

"'Pansy?'" Auror Shacklebolt drew up -- or perhaps back. "I would not expect you to be friends."

"Well, we're _not_ , but she and Draco are, and I think that she deserves to know what happened, as much as you can say. He _was_ her father." 

"Her mother did not want details." 

"Pansy _does_ , and she clearly doesn't have them. She thought I was _there_ , for one thing. I think she heard that he had 'said' something to me, but not that it was in a letter." 

Shacklebolt consider that. "Yet she asked you to make this request," he said coolly, "rather than making it herself. Why is that, do you think?" 

Harry tensed. He was obviously being schooled to assume a plot. "For some reason," he retorted, "people think a request from me might get a faster response. Like you'd come to Hogwarts and talk to me, or something." 

Kingsley's teeth flashed white. "Touché." 

"Honestly, would you talk to her, please? I've told her what I know, but that's not much." 

"Because she is a friend of Draco Malfoy? You might want to consider her loyalties." 

"I have. She has no room to change if everyone outside her little group ignores her." 

Shacklebolt's eyebrows rose. "She may not change in any case." 

"Voldemort _killed_ her father. For trying to _help_."

Dumbledore coughed. Shacklebolt folded his arms over his chest. Harry did the same. After a moment, the Auror nodded. "Point taken, Mr. Potter. I will speak to her. I expect Headmaster Dumbledore will not object to my further use of his office? 

The headmaster waved a hand towards them without looking up. "As you wish, Kingsley. I have nothing scheduled for this evening." 

Harry felt the warmth from his schoolbag that told him he had a message from Draco. He offered a hand to Shacklebolt. "Thank you for seeing me, sir."

"You're quite welcome, Mr. Potter. However -- do you actually want that letter you requested?"

"Oh -- yes! Please." 

With a flourish, Kingsley produced a white envelope from his robes. "Here you are. A non-functional copy, as I expect you would prefer." 

"Very much so." Harry shuddered. "Thank you. If I see Pansy, should I send her here?"

Setting aside his book, Dumbledore stood. "No need. I will see to the invitation, Harry. If you leave right now, you may have time to say farewell to the Quiris."

"Oh!" That was probably the message from Draco. He'd miss them. And a number of projects would be less constrained now. "Thank you, sir."

 

"Harry! How good to see you!" Frieda Horsyr, world traveler and Quiri-keeper, was not exactly like Professor Horsyr. She had acquired a deep tan that set off her blond hair, which, rather than being coiled atop her head, hung mostly loose, with two thin braids holding the forward sections out of her face. Her robes had short sleeves -- Harry suspected she had always had muscular arms, but having them on display was new -- and ended mid-calf, above laced brown leather boots, in a dueling style. That her handshake pulled him into a short, firm hug was not really a surprise. "I hear you've stayed out of trouble, this year."

"Really?" Harry asked. 

"Oh, give him time!" Draco said cheerily. "It's still January." Keeba -- or possibly her daughter -- was hanging off his arm. Harry had forgotten what a dark bronze she was. The other visiting Quiri zoomed past, with Tuktuk in pursuit. 

"You haven't?" Frieda challenged. 

"I'm just surprised it's what you've _heard_. Professor Dumbledore hasn't been too happy with me, from what I can tell."

"Oh, yes! That! I hear you have your own mind, and some new friends." She looked at him keenly. "Are they doing you any harm?" 

"No."

"Are you doing them any good?" 

He grinned. "Some of them, I think." 

"Exactly. I've worked with Albus for years, and I know to adjust his appraisal of things that were not his plan. It is like Severus Snape's appraisal of a Gryffindor's competence." She paused, watching the Quiris swing by on the interlaced vines. "Also," she added, "I spent last night visiting with someone who has been my friend for far longer -- Andromeda Tonks."

"Oh! Did Tonks -- Auror Tonks, I mean...." Harry stumbled over how to ask the question. Draco had turned to stare at them. Horsyr laughed. 

"Has she spoken well of you? Yes. And of her young cousin, besides." She nodded towards Draco. "Andy remarked that as shocking as it was to have her sister appear after decades of silence, she still did not expect her to speak well of the same young man as her daughter -- and that despite his blood status and the inconvenience that he might cause her." 

"I still have trouble believing Mother did that," Draco put in. 

"Spoke to her sister?"

"A sister that I'd heard of only as scandal? Yes." 

"Do you disapprove?"

"Of course not!" Recovering his composure, Draco rolled his eyes. "It's just _odd_ , that's all. Before the ball -- I expected _constant_ tension with Harry there, but she was relaxed -- playful even -- like she is once in a blue moon." 

"Hm." Horsyr stroked a hand down the bronze Quiri's back. "Draco. . . I am not privy to her conversations with Andy, but one might assume she has been under substantial stress in recent years. Do you recall if she was more relaxed before You Know Who's return?" 

Draco frowned, in the way he did when thinking. Horsyr waited through his long silence. 

"More relaxed, perhaps. Not ... _teasing_. I remember that from before I left for school -- but, of course, we used to play, when I was little." 

Horsyr nodded. "And did you when you came home for the summer?" 

"Of course not!" Quickly, Draco looked away. "I mean," he said, "I was too old for hide-and-seek in the gardens, then. And I had things to learn." 

"I see." Horsyr smiled slightly. "Beyond summer essays?" 

"I was the _heir_."

"So you were with your father instead?" 

"And tutors. I mean, there were tutors before as well, but--" Draco looked anxiously at Harry. "It's-- I'd rather not talk about my family, right now." 

"Something else, then. How is the new instructor? A curse-breaker -- that must be exciting!" 

Harry could not help thinking that it was the same distraction that Narcissa had used, for different reasons.

 

They were in the middle of relating the best moments from this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts -- and Harry was wondering if they would stay all night, and how hard it would be for Draco to say goodbye -- when the door flew open. 

"Draco!" Pansy shouted. "I need--" She stopped, staring at the three of them. "Oh -- Potter." She swallowed, and nodded curtly. "Professor." 

"Miss Parkinson." Horsyr looked curiously at Harry, then Draco, and then back to Pansy. "Do you come here often?"

"Just recently," Pansy said, her chin rising. "But it's a place Draco might be." 

"And you were looking for him." 

"For _Potter_ , actually. But I hoped that Draco would know where he was." She advanced on Harry. "Auror Shacklebolt spoke to me _personally_ \-- on your request, he said." 

"Oh, right. Well, he told me he was coming here anyway -- something with Dumbledore." 

She sniffed. "And you believed him, of course."

"Well, yeah." 

"He also...." 

Harry waited. She sniffed again. He'd thought that was contempt, but now, as Pansy struggled to speak, he was less certain. Now that he looked, her eyes were pink, and the upper lids puffed up. "The Greeter," she said faintly, her voice catching. "He set it off for me." 

Harry shuddered. Voldemort's icy amusement echoed in head with no invitation. That had not been what he'd meant when he said Kingsley should tell her what he could. "Sorry," he said. "You didn't need to hear that."

For a moment, her eyes closed. Then she straightened. Her wand dropped out faster than Harry would have believed her capable of, but as Horsyr darted forward, it pointed up. Pansy swirled her casting in a spiral above them. A privacy charm. 

"I _did_ ," she said fiercely, Horsyr watching her like a hawk. "I really did. Don't think it's the same for us. I wasn't believing what he told me, and that voice--" She shuddered. 

After a moment, Harry nodded. He let her 'us' pass. "Yeah," he said. "Scary." 

"Even for you?"

"Even for me." 

Her eyes widened. "What will you do, then?" 

"I'll defeat him."

Taking a long, deep breath, she nodded. " _Gryffindor_ scared. I see. So." She folded her arms almost like Snape. "We agree that he's a monster -- and an ungrateful fool, I will add. Speaking privately, Potter, you have my support." 

"Privately?"

"Consider it of more worth for being undeclared." 

"Huh." He shrugged. "I'll take what I can get -- but I'd rather you brought in the Greengrass girls, and Cecilus, and others." 

"I might," she said. "Just quietly." 

"Ah." He couldn't keep from smiling. " _Slytherin_ support. Well, thank you, whatever the form. I'll do what I can for you." 

"I _have_ noticed that. Curious." With a backwards swirl, she dismissed the spell. "Thank you for the information, Potter. I'll be on my way."

"Wait!" Draco called. 

"What?"

"The Quiris are leaving. Let Astoria know? We'll be here another hour or two."

"Oh!" Pansy sounded like all her sweets had fallen in a puddle. "I'll be right back." 

"That door." Draco pointed across the room. "It comes out in the dungeons." 

"Oh does it?" Pansy snapped. "We'll have _that_ out later." 

"I look forward to it." 

 

They stayed out long past lights out, the Slytherin girls cooing over the Quiris under Horsyr's amused eye, but Harry still woke up early, as he had much of the year. That Defense Against the Dark Arts was his first lesson four days a week had done wonders for his ability to get up in the morning. He stumbled down to the Great Hall with Neville and Ginny -- Ron still being asleep -- and they joined Hermione at the house table and began selecting food from the platters there. He had woken up enough to wonder what Gentian might ask to learn -- what did first year Slytherins want to know? -- when the post owls swooped in. Unlike his first few years, he now looked up hopefully, just like the other students. There might be a letter from Sirius, or Remus, or Tonks -- or even Esmée, who had accepted his apology with a sweet "I understand! It must be so hard for you, all these enemies!" adding a chatty page about her return to France. He smiled to himself. There were actual possibilities now. 

Instead of letters, what fell by his plate was Hermione's Daily Prophet. Harry had gone back to his eggs when she let out a little cry of dismay. 

"What is it?" 

"Harry." She was holding the paper to her chest, as if trying to hide it from him. "I think you need to see this." 

"All right, then." Despite her posture, he held out his hand, his voice steady as his heart began to race. Had Sirius been caught? Killed? She looked horrified. 

"Let me read it first--" 

He snatched the cheap parchment away from her, making her gasp, and twisted the front page to face him. 

  


**_Attack on Potter Graves!_**

_James and Lily Potter, martyrs of the last war, lie in peace in Godric's Hollow. Until last night. The graves of these war heroes were violated by unknown attackers, who broke the ground above them, using metal spades, rather than magic. This primitive method might have been chosen to evade detection -- or for even more sinister motives. In either case, the attempt failed. Aurors reported that they responded to a call about the violation deep in the dark of night, but arrived to find hexes flying, as equally unknown defenders fought back this repulsive attempt to exhume two champions of the light._

_The defenders vanished as Aurors took over that charge, and the brave men and women of the MLE were too beset to follow. Two were admitted to St. Mungo's with serious curse damage. Although the attack was repulsed, no one was apprehended._

_Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of the Pernicious Activities Division at the MLE, told our reporter that he cannot comment on evidence in an open investigation. When the Prophet's reporters questioned him specifically about the battle, he said that he believes it is reasonable to assume that some friend of the Potters set a warning charm against this evil deed. Although he did not mention any names or descriptions, certain possibilities spring readily to mind. The Potters had many friends, but among them, the dead outnumber the living. We know it was not Alice and Frank Longbottom, or Arthur Weasley, or the Prewett brothers who guarded their bodies, as all are now gone or incapacitated. The Potters' only child, The Boy Who Lived, is still at school, and would not have had the opportunity to create or respond to such a defense. However, the fugitive Sirius Black is a possibility, as is the werewolf Remus Lupin -- both, as this paper have uncovered, close to James Potter at Hogwarts and after. Furthermore,_  
**_[continued on page 8]_ **

Before turning over the paper, Harry looked up at Hermione, who had pressed near him to read along. "Go on," she urged. He flipped the first section over. Page 8 was the back of it. 

**_[Potter graves -- continued from page 1]_ **  
_Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore was known to favor James Potter and Lily (Evans) Potter, even speaking at their funeral, and might have lent his considerable power to warding the graves._

_After this many years, why mount such an attack? Was it just spite, or something more sinister? Curious, we consulted our sources at the National Library of Arcane and Common Magic. Archivist Amanita Wight offered a grim theory. It seems that some mostly forgotten branches of the Dark Arts include macabre curses that can use parts of a person's body to strengthen attacks upon blood relatives. She believes that this attack was ultimately aimed against the living -- or more precisely, against The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. Were such an attempt to succeed, Hogwarts might not be enough to keep him safe._

_Tomorrow! We interview Miss. Wight and her colleague, Librarian and Defense expert Felicia Kurt._

  


The outrage and repulsion that Harry had felt at the headline was now almost out of reach beneath a numb tide of disbelief. As from a great distance, he looked up from the paper. The others had fallen silent. 

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked. 

"They didn't manage it," Hermione said urgently. "Dumbledore won't let them." 

"Dumbledore. I need to--" 

"He's gone," Hermione said. "Probably out dealing with this." 

Indeed, when Harry looked, the staff table was almost empty. Not only was Dumbledore not there, but Snape and McGonagall and Flitwick were gone as well. From his conversations with Snape and Dumbledore, Harry knew there was an organized group for defending against Voldemort -- he wouldn't be surprised if the other two professors were also part of it. Hecksban wasn't there either, but he might just be setting up his first lesson. 

Ginny pulled the paper from his hands. 

"Crap!" she exclaimed. "Harry, that's horrible!" She spread the paper down to read with Neville. "Well, at least they didn't...." 

_At least they didn't dig up your parents' bodies._ Harry pushed his plate away. There was no way he could manage to choke anything down through the tightness in his throat, and if he did, it certainly wouldn't stay. 

"Harry," Draco said, from beside him. Harry hadn't seen him approach, but Draco got the _Daily Prophet_ as well, of course. Draco rested a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go someplace quieter. Hermione, let Professor Hecksban know we'll be late for the lesson, please." 

"Of course," she agreed, and Harry let Draco lead him away. 

 

"They won't manage it."

Harry leaned against the cool stone of the window embrasure. Nearby, students hurried up and down the staircases. 

"They won't. They have tried once and failed. Whoever was watching will be more attentive now, and will have allies." He frowned. "Or do you think it was a feint? Are they trying to draw Sirius out?" 

"I hope not." Harry hadn't even thought of that. He pushed himself upright. 

"Write him and tell him to stay away. For now, I am quite certain that the Aurors are watching closely. With two wounded, they'll be taking this personally."

"Professor Dumbledore might be doing something too. I mean, he and Snape were both gone." 

"Yes. And you should speak with both of them -- independently, and without reference to my spellfather in the case of the headmaster -- when they return." 

"You still think I need instructions for everything." 

"Hush. You are sometimes quite sly. Your deflection of Pansy from wandless magic was adept. However, I have no means of predicting when that will be." 

"I wasn't offended," Harry protested. "Amused, in a way." 

"You looked offended." 

"I'm just ... upset. Not about _that_ , though. I just noticed that you were telling me to do what I would have done anyway."

"I am glad we're in agreement, then. Oh!" Draco reached into the inner pocket of his robes. "A note from Miss Gentian LeFay." 

"Good, I suppose. I could use the distraction. What does it say?" 

Draco tsked. "Really, Harry! Would I read your messages?" 

"Er, yes?" 

"I am terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I do not see sufficient gain, in this case." 

"But aren't you curious?" 

"Of course I am! Now -- what does it say?" 

Harry took the note. "I'm not sure I should tell you. She may consider it private." 

"Pff! If it was private, she would have set some sort of privacy charm on it." Draco stepped closer as Harry read the note. "And?"

"Hm. Targeted variation of the Cypher charm?" Harry vaguely remembered the name from second year, but he wasn't sure he had ever cast it.

"Oh, excellent choice! Used for diaries and love notes." 

"But I don't know it!" 

"Of course you do. We cast a more sophisticated variation on the Liber Geminus." Draco smiled. "Now ... would you like me to teach you the ordinary variations? I'll show them to you now -- the theory will be something to distract you during the day -- and then we can go into more depth after lessons." 

 

By the time Defense Against the Dark Arts was over, Harry was thinking more clearly. During the free period that should have been Potions, he sent Hedwig off to Remus and then let Draco distract him with tutoring in the Cypher charm. At lunch, Professor McGonagall and Flitwick had returned, but Snape was still absent, and during Charms, Draco passed on a message to Harry from the Slytherin hearth box. _Tell Mr. Potter that I will be available after lessons tomorrow._

 

After lessons on Friday, that was where they went. Harry had already sent word on to Gentian that he had an unplanned meeting with a professor and did not know how late it would go. 

Snape's office door was closed, but Draco seemed to have expected this. He sailed past without even a glance. Harry shrugged and kept up. A minute later they were in Snape's lab, with Draco quietly latching the door behind them. 

The professor was stirring a great cauldron set on the floor. Silver mists surrounded his head, and he was wearing goggles held on with a leather strap and a thin, grey scarf around his lower face. The effect was amusing at first, but less so when Harry considered the implications. 

"Do we need eye protection too?" 

"Not if you stay back." Snape's voice was muffled by the fabric. "The fumes will have warmed enough by the time they reach you. Now wait. This stage requires my concentration."

Draco leaned against a nearby work slab and pulled Harry to him. They watched in silence as the silver mist dimmed and sank back into the cauldron. With that gone, Snape's scarf turned out to be much darker than Harry had thought. With a satisfied nod, Snape set a timer charm in the air beside the cauldron, and pulled off his dragon-hide gauntlets, and then both scarf and goggles. When he turned towards them, he had indentations on his face where the leather had pressed in. 

"It will be stable for thirteen minutes," he said. 

"Was that ghost ichor?" Draco asked, sounding fascinated. 

"Very good, Draco. Yes." He straightened. "Willingly given, I might add, by the Far Friar, so if he looks a bit thinner this week -- thinner in the sense of a soup, that is -- refrain from comment."

"Less corporeal, rather than less corpulent," Draco said. "I see." 

"Is this related to...?" Harry couldn't think how to continue. 

"Your parent's graves? Yes. The Aurors are allowing the headmaster to add to the original protections. Once we have poured this over the soil, disturbing it will release phantasms."

"I do hope that Professor Dumbledore doesn't expect that to frighten them off."

Snape's mouth twisted. "Of course not. However, the disorientation of being immersed in such delirium should buy us some time. We were in luck Wednesday night; several of us were meeting outside the school when Lupin received the signal--"

"Sirius?" Harry asked anxiously. 

"Do not interrupt, Potter. We were able to respond promptly that night, but if those of us at Hogwarts needed to be contacted, dress, Floo out of the school, and then apparate, Lupin might have been overwhelmed before we arrived." He nodded at Harry. "Black is in isolation -- or was. Lupin thought it best to inform him of the situation before he found a newspaper and overreacted."

"Why were you meeting in the middle of the night?" Draco asked.

"It was not as late as the Daily Prophet would have you believe. There is no story so dramatic they do not find it worthy of embellishment. In this case, 'deep in the dark of night ' was before my usual bedtime." He looked sharply at Harry. "I will not tell you more about the meeting, but you may now ask other questions."

Harry swallowed. He felt he had a hundred things he needed to know, but finding words for even one was hard. "Could they?" he asked finally. "If they ... if the Death Eaters took ... if _he_ had their bodies, could he attack me?" 

Snape sneered. "What do you think, Potter?" His tone went lower and silkier, which was not reassuring. "What do you know?" 

Harry steeled himself and pulled his jumbled fears into place. 

"If they were alive, yes. I know it could be done. We were talking about that with Nott. And Voldemort used dust from his father's bones to make his new body."

"Does that tell you it's possible?" Snape asked, and Harry steadied as his professor's voice took that idle tone he used when coaching Slytherins. 

"Not necessarily. It was complicated, and he was participating."

"Exactly." Snape snapped his robes around him as he straightened. "Blood from the _living_ is strong enough to traverse close familial ties, but it is, even then, _complicated_. Milder things -- hair, nail clippings -- can focus a minor hex on the single person that they came from. Dead matter --" He flicked his hand to the side. "It could be used against you Potter, but not to kill or maim. To hurt, perhaps. Do not consider yourself safe, but if another foray succeeds, you are not doomed. Do not let them draw you out. That, most probably, is the true goal." He scowled. "To horrify, to demoralize, and to engender reckless action."

"Which the articles in the Prophet are enhancing," Draco commented. 

"Yes. Without that intent, but they do." He leaned back against an empty table. "Now -- do either of you see a more serious risk than the bodies of the dead?" 

Harry shuddered. However, having mentioned Nott, the answer was clear. "I'm related to Aunt Petunia." 

"Curiously put. However, I do recall you relating some unsavory details about your treatment at her hands."

Harry heated, remembering the conversation. After casting the Imperius curse, there had seemed no reason to dissemble. "It wasn't fair of you, you know -- asking when I was in that state."

"Fair? Of course not! However, it was ultimately to your benefit." 

Harry scowled, but couldn't disagree. Snape had stopped treating him as someone he wasn't. He looked away. 

"Her abysmal treatment of you may be to your benefit as well. She is your mother's sister, but non-magical, diluting the bond, and if you do not consider each other _family_ , curse transmission will be weakened still further."

"If you think they'll go after her, she ought to be protected."

Draco sniffed. "I'll tell Gilbert he has nothing to worry about." 

"What?"

"You'll help even people who have wronged you." He turned to Snape. "However, it would be a reasonable precaution." 

"We are aware of that, Mr. Malfoy," Snape growled. "The headmaster is doing his best, but the Muggles are not cooperating. It seems they do not want his _freakish_ protection."

Harry snorted. "That's the Dursleys, all right. So Dudley...?"

" _Not_ a close enough relation for anything powerful. Nuisance hexes, as we discussed." Snape's timer charm glowed yellow. "I must return to my potion." He gestured to the side. "That grey volume there -- you may find it disturbing in the general sense, but the second essay covers the limitations of familial curses, and so should be reassuring in the more specific sense. I suggest that you read it." 

With some trepidation, Harry picked up the book indicated. It was quite slim, but the leather binding worn and sticky to the touch. Snape paused with his scarf ready to cross his face. 

"Oh, and Harry? Do not let that be seen." 

 

In the corridor, the slim volume tucked away in his bag, Harry turned to Draco. There were things to discuss, but most needed time and privacy. "He calls me 'Harry' at the weirdest moments." 

"Do you really think so? That was clear enough to me."

"Oh?" 

"He was addressing you as an adult who is capable of discretion." 

"Oh." Harry glanced down at bag. "So, do you think I should--"

"Fulfill your bargain with my young housemate? Yes. And then we should spend a pleasant evening with friends. Tomorrow will be soon enough for serious study." 

 


	45. Blood Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peril hastens another divination

_Blood Lines_

"Harry?" 

At Draco's uncertain query, Harry looked up from the picnic basket Dobby had brought. "You can go to the Great Hall if you want," he said. "I just couldn't; everyone looks so sorry for me." 

There had been another attack on his parents' graves -- also unsuccessful, but even more dramatic, as the phantasms from Severus's potion had sent at least one attacker into delirium, flooding the usually quiet cemetery with 3 AM screams of terror and rage. In response to urgent reports from a neighbor, the Department of Spirit Management had sent out a representative to orient and register the assumed new ghost, and the Ghost Greeter argued precedence with a swarm of Aurors who would give no information until someone connected the dots and realized who she was and why she was there. If it had been in some other story, Harry would have laughed. 

"Understood." Draco peered into the basket. "Before we start in on that, should we move downstairs? Or is there a reason to be here?" 

Harry sighed. "I think Ron's been trying to talk to me," he said. "He just doesn't want it to be in front of anyone, for some reason, and Hermione's been hovering any time I'm not in the dormitory, and we're never alone there." He frowned. "Which might be Seamus and Neville hovering, now that I think about it. I should talk to them." 

"But you think if we have our lunch here...?"

"He might show up." It was at least one possibility. "Or _she_ might, I suppose. I think if he's up for divination tonight, it might finally be time to take him to our clubhouse." 

Draco waved the idea away. "It's not necessary." 

"Really? I thought you said the Coltsfoot would be 'odoriferous' in use." Harry had found the word hilarious, but also rather endearingly Draco. 

"Yes, but...." Draco hesitated. "I have reconsidered. The base potion _can_ be sprinkled over a compatible herb and smoked in a pipe, but he could also just consume it in the usual way." 

"But you must have had some reason--" 

"Certainly. There are advantages to both avenues. Smoked, it will both take effect faster and wear off faster, which I had thought would help him avoid detection."

"Sounds likely."

"Except I tried burning some, and the smell!" Draco shuddered. "Hermione would know the moment he walked in the room." 

"Oh." Harry snorted. "Yeah, I can imagine that. But will it be safe as a draught? That book you were reading had all sorts of warnings about the dreaming head of a Runespoor." 

"Yes, but I expect that is primarily to discourage recreational use. I've chosen a formulation that counters that with the weight of Sphinx feathers, and is filtered through beach sand, preserving the interstitial state, while being rather less pleasant." 

"What do you mean by _less pleasant_?" Harry challenged. 

"Simply what I said. The effect should be something he would not dread repeating, yet will not desire to." Draco frowned. "Speaking of which, have you talked to Blaise yet?" 

"Um, no. It hasn't been a good time, really."

"Well do get on it. If July finds him in a sandhouse, I'll hold you responsible." 

Harry was sure he'd heard the term before, but couldn't place it. "Sorry. Though at this point, I'll need to wait until the hovering stops." 

"Has it been bad? I watched you read the _Prophet_ , this morning, and you didn't look as stunned, from what I could see. More angry." 

"Furious. But actually, the article -- I mean, the end of it was funny." 

"How could--" Draco's momentary confusion cleared. "Oh, the Aurors mistaking the Ghost Greeter for a reporter?"

"And everything. Yes. And there were people who laughed, but I didn't mind. But now they're horrified and trying to show me how _sad_ they feel, when there's no reason, really. Nothing's happened!" 

Draco considered. "They worry about the danger you are in." 

"Which hasn't changed." 

"Do they know that, though?"

"Oh. Maybe not. I have Snape's book." 

"So you did find it reassuring."

"Yes. Certainly, as he said, I'm in no danger from anything they can do to their bodies." 

Draco hesitated. "Except," he said carefully, "the emotional trauma." 

Harry managed a shrug. "Yeah. Of course. But I can't think about that. It's just playing into it." 

"I understand." Draco set his shoulders. "And your aunt?"

Harry frowned. "If Dumbledore's people lose track of her.... Well, possibly. But I get the impression that protectors as staying as close as they can, considering." 

Draco nodded. "While being unwelcome. Yes, Tonks and Severus have both said that." He selected a sandwich. "So, reassure me as well. I take it the enemy would need to do more than attack her with a particular Dark curse?" 

"Yes, for it to affect me." Harry slid Snape's book out of his school bag. "They'd need time for any of the methods here. The strongest way is to cut off flesh from her, directly into a rather nasty potion, and once it dissolves in that, to attack me with that potion. A simpler one is to cut deep into part of her body -- say, her right hand, if they wanted to damage my wand hand -- with a particular curse, and then pour a similar potion into it. But it's not that much simpler. They wouldn't need direct access to me, but for that, she needs to stay alive while the potion eats through her. At our degree of kinship, she'd need to be restrained for almost half an hour, and even then, we might not have enough of a family bond for it to work." 

"But if she loved you, it would be more effective."

"Some, yeah," Harry answered awkwardly. "But we're still related indirectly -- not in the same line." Harry shrugged. "Your world." 

"Ah." Draco plucked a grape from the plate between them. He rolled it between his fingers as he spoke. "Both of these methods involve potions." Disturbingly suddenly, his focus shifted from the grape to Harry. "Could there be more direct means that are outside my spellfather's purview?"

"Well, not if this source is accurate." Harry wasn't used to Draco making him feel like a student in a lesson. "The introduction talks about how most blood curses that are more than a nuisance require potions -- with a few exceptions." 

"Those being?" 

"The only example given was of identical twins." Harry looked defiantly back. "It implied there were others though." 

Draco sighed. "We should probably research it."

"You think that will be in the library?" Harry teased. 

"My _father's_ library, yes. Or at least it's quite possible." 

"So we'll need to get there." 

"Or I will. Yes." Draco frowned. "Perhaps Hermione could help, if she didn't have to touch anything."

Harry snorted. "We haven't got very far, have we?" 

"With what?"

"Oh, our grand scheme -- _your_ grand scheme -- from last summer. You know, taking over our houses." 

Draco sniffed. "You might have made as much progress in Slytherin as I have. _Quite_ impressive. Millicent, Blaise, Linnet, and Gilbert are _yours_ \-- although Gilbert won't yet admit it -- and I think Devary would love to be. You should work on him. Ruthven Kent, who wouldn't have willingly spoken to a mixed-blood at the start of the year, is now playing games with them in the mixed house space. Astoria is rather fascinated with you as well." He laughed slightly. "Miss Gentian LeFay! Though she's at least of a liberal family. How did you end up owing her tutoring?" 

"Eh, I asked her to take a message to Hermione for me. She bargained for it, or-- Oh. I suppose it was more that she demurred until I made an offer."

"Why ask her in the first place?"

"This was when I got back from Veritaserum interview. I didn't want to go upstairs, but I didn't want to leave Hermione and Ron worrying. I heard a bunch of kids thundering up the stairs and thought I'd send a message with one, then when they came into sight they were all Slytherins." He shrugged. "But Gentian and I had spoken before, a few times, so I decided to risk asking anyway."

"And she demanded..?" 

"I _offered_ to teach her a spell." 

"Ah. Did you set any limits?"

"Of course! Anything assigned in Charms or Defense Against the Dark Arts, supplemental reading -- when she asked -- at my discretion." 

"Oh, well done!" 

"Thank you." Harry hesitated. "The odd thing is -- she never collected. It wasn't until you sent her with a message for me that I reminded her that I owed her some tutoring." 

"Hm." Draco considered. "She was in a group, you said?" 

"Yeah. First and second-year kids, I think." 

"Being seen to bargain with you -- a seventh year, and Harry Potter besides -- may have _been_ the payment, in her mind. She certainly did rise in the house social order at around that time." 

"She didn't mention it to me." 

"She probably assumed you _knew_. Having made a potentially demeaning request, you gave her a way to demonstrate control of the situation, and thus gain status instead."

"Well, yeah. I mean, I didn't think of it like that, but I could see that she couldn't just do what I said, when some of the other kids considered me an enemy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I believe that is what I _said_." 

Harry laughed. "In Slytherin, maybe." He leaned back against the blue sofa. "So ... Julian Devary?" 

"Adores you."

"Would he work for the Uncommon Room, do you think?"

"Hm." 

"We were thinking of adding fifth-years this term, though we haven't discussed it yet. Is he discreet enough? I mean, without Babbling Draught?" 

"Perhaps." Draco frowned. "Some of the older girls might be able to get information out of him, if one of them wanted to lay on the charm. Not Cassandra -- they have bad history -- but Pansy definitely could, and Daphne might be able to."

"How close are Daphne and Astoria?"

"If we wanted just the younger, you mean?"

"Yeah." 

"No. It won't work." 

"Okay." 

"On your end ... Sajid?" 

"You think so?" 

"Well, he did well with Seymour and Ruthven, and as you pointed out, we don't have many Muggleborns." He frowned. "Just Hermione, isn't it?"

"Right." Harry considered that. "I'm fine with Sajid, but maybe one from another house as well?"

"We'll need to ask the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs."

"Right." Harry laughed. "And we should ask about Jeremy while we're at it." 

"Why she's never suggested him?"

"Exactly. Is he unsuitable, or it she being shy?" 

"Sophia is _not_ shy." 

"Yeah. But she's been blabbing about her kinky sex with us." 

"Oh!" Draco did not quite catch his laugh in time, turning it into an undignified snort. "You might have something there." 

"Maybe they haven't actually done it." 

"Ha! Well, we should--" 

They heard the chime that Draco had added to the door after Hermione's first, sudden, Friday entrance. "Harry?" Ron's voice called. "You decent?" 

"We'd have changed the password if not," Draco called back. "Come in." 

With hesitant steps, Ron came into the chamber. He looked miserable. "I really am sorry, Harry. I hadn't meant--" 

"It was funny! That's fine! If it hadn't been my parents' graves, I would have laughed too." 

"But it _was_ , and I shouldn't be laughing at that." 

"And you weren't. You were laughing at Ministry people being officious, right?" 

Nodding, Ron set his shoulders back. "Yeah. Hermione says I still have the emotional depth of a teaspoon." 

Draco laughed. "Oh, not really," he said, recovering. "Just the tact of a Krup." 

"Look, I said--"

" _Really,_ Ron. Harry was just explaining to me that he didn't mind people laughing. I hadn't realized that you were one of those who had, but he is sincere, I can assure you." 

Ron crossed his arms, but his glare was for Harry. "And you skipped lunch because...?"

"Because I'm so tired of people looking sorry for me. Nothing's happened yet! Maybe nothing will." 

"Maybe." Ron took a deep breath. "Still, I think we better get on that divination, right?" 

"Our thought as well," Draco agreed. "Tonight, after dinner?"

"Not now?" 

"No. I think that we had better attend to our usual afternoon business. Harry should be seen, and one of you should ensure that Hermione is in the library, so that I can draw her aside and explain to her that Harry finds anticipatory sympathy more irritating than helpful, and that he would like some space."

"Good luck with that," Ron said. "Though yeah. She might listen to you." 

"Of course. I will be more eloquent." Draco flashed him a smile as he said it, and Ron, to Harry's relief, seemed to take the jibe as friendly. 

 

Harry did go to the Great Hall for dinner, and Draco's interference seemed to have helped. Hermione -- and Ginny -- were cheerfully normal with him, and other housemates followed their lead. After the meal, he walked up to the library with several housemate, checked out a book on curse breakers in the Himalayas, waved to Hermione, and slipped away to the Uncommon Room. 

He expected that if anyone had arrived before him it would be Draco, but it was Ron who was waiting on the blue sofa. The fall of dark green ivy set off his red hair almost as dramatically as it did Draco's blond. 

"Hey," he said. "Thought you'd be here earlier." 

"I took a little detour, so Hermione could see me out and about."

"Probably a good idea. Do you know where Draco is? 

"Probably picking up the potion." 

"And a pipe?" Ron asked wryly. 

"What? Oh, no -- he settled on a formula you can drink. He thought the fumes might make it out into the hallway, and didn't want to move someplace more remote." 

Ron nodded. "Well, good. That sounded uncomfortable." He hesitated. "So, I know you want to make this about destroying You-Know-Who, but I think we should look at the more immediate threat." 

"Aunt Petunia?" 

"What?" 

They stared at each other.

Ron growled. "The attacks on the graves."

"Not a threat." 

"Take it seriously, Harry." 

"I am. I've talked to Snape and he's certain they can't do me any serious harm from the dead -- except horrifying me. That's why my aunt is more of threat -- though he says that may not work well either, as we don't have a real family relationship." 

"Snape?" Ron challenged, scowling. "You ask that greasy bat for advice?" 

"Don't call names!" Harry snapped. "And for questions about Dark Arts? Yes, I ask Snape. Who else would I ask?" 

"Gerard, I'd think."

"What -- who?"

"Professor Hecksban?" 

"You're on a first name basis with Professor Hecksban?"

"Oh." Ron blushed. "Well, Bill was home for Christmas, and he came over to visit a couple of times. Spent an hour holed up with Bill and Mum -- don't know what that was about -- but after that, we all went out and tossed around a Quaffle. He's not bad on a broom!" 

"Who's not?" called Draco from the entrance passage. 

"Professor Hecksban," Harry explained, twisting in his seat to watch his lover come in. He was attractively flushed from the climb up from the sub-dungeon chamber. "Ron thinks I should ask him about the risk from Aunt Petunia."

"And your parents."

Draco nodded. "That's not a bad idea. I believe you'll get the same answer about your parents -- otherwise everyone would be buried in trap-laden vaults, or we'd have stuck to pyres -- but it alleviates the issue I raised with my spellfather's sources being overly focused on potions." 

Harry nodded. "Okay. We can talk to him Monday. I'm also planning on asking Dumbledore tomorrow -- I saw he was back, this evening, but thought it might as well wait until after the divination, in case something else comes up." 

"Good plan," Draco said, as Ron nodded. "So. Shall we get ready?"

"Is there much to do?" Ron asked, looking around.

"Well, I brought tuffets that should be more comfortable than the enlarged seat cushions." Draco set down his bag and pulled out three things the size and shape of marshmallows. "Also, your bowl." 

"We're going back to the earlier divination then?"

"Yes. The last one would be far too dangerous with you even less aware of reality." Draco made a face. "We were not doing it again anyway." 

"Good." Ron's shoulders relaxed down at the confirmation. "Let's start then." 

Draco expanded the tuffets -- round, quilted seats about half a meter high -- and Harry made the legs of the nearest coffee table short enough to match. Draco cast a mild cushioning charm on the table and floor. 

"What's that for?" Ron asked.

"In case your balance is affected. That apparently varies from person to person." 

Ron blinked. "This is going to be more of a thing than you said, isn't it?" To Harry's amusement, his tone was more resigned than resentful.

"I am not actually certain, I'm afraid." Draco said. "While my sources are in agreement that the potion is safe for a single supervised use, they also agree that the effects, as I said, _vary_. Some describe it as equivalent to lounging in the sun after a beer or two; others as a slow delirium."

"Thus the supervision." 

"Yes. You might have trouble with pesky details like "up" and "down," for example." 

"Hah. All right. 'Comfortable' it is."

"Here," Draco passed over a vial. "It will take a few minutes to take effect, so you might as well have it now."

Ron hesitated. "Bowl first." 

When the bowl was set just so, Ron lifted the vial and looked over at Harry. "If this is poison, you'll avenge me, right, mate?" 

Harry laughed. "I promise," he said. 

"Cheers, then." 

He downed the potion and grimaced. "That's awful. Of course, they all are." 

"Worry about the ones that aren't," Harry advised. For a moment, they were all silent. 

"How will I know?" Ron asked.

"Leave that up to us," Draco said. "So, when did you see Professor Hecksban flying?"

"Over Christmas. He's friendly with Bill -- my oldest brother -- you remember how he said 'you must be Ron' that first day?"

"Right."

"Well, they became friends in Egypt, and have mostly lived in different countries since, but Bill was home this year and invited him over to visit."

"It was too cold for Quidditch." 

'Too cold for Bludgers, but you can still toss a Quaffle on a sunny day." 

They talked idly about Quidditch in different sorts of weather for a while, until Harry noticed that Ron had fallen silent. 

"Ron?" 

"I like flying." 

The statement was childish in its simplicity. "Um, yeah." 

"Hermione doesn't. It's too bad." Ron sighed. "I can't explain what she's missing, because she doesn't." He looked down at the empty bowl and ran a finger along it in the crossing loops of a figure eight.

"Did you want to start the divination?" Draco asked. "Ron?" 

Ron's finger stopped. "What?"

"Did you want to start the divination?"

"Oh." Ron looked up. _"That's_ why I'm here with you." With a relieved smile, he straightened. "Good. Didn't think we were friends yet." He reached for the flask. "Let's." 

Like the first time, the divination base caught his attention immediately, but when the hilt of Draco's stiletto brushed his hand, he not only grasped it, but immediately extended his other hand for Harry's. "Seven, I think," he said, bringing the two together. "Don't want it even." 

Harry looked away from the knife and at Draco. 

"Why not?" Draco asked. 

"Because then no one wins," Ron answered, pricking Harry's finger neatly. "And I want Harry to win, of course." He moved Harry's hand back and forth as he doled out drops of blood, as if he were dealing cards, or counting down who was 'it' for a game. Harry didn't think he was much more affected than he had been by the early divination. Probably this was going to be the 'beer and sunlight' sort of reaction. 

This time, Ron's _"Diffindo!"_ sent already sorted flecks of blood to their pools. Each drop had split into many more tiny ones, and they looked like schools of red minnows against the streaked marble. Harry thought the section on the right must be his, because it had a larger school. 

"All right," Ron said. "Let's see about _blood_." Each school split, clashed, and merged again, and Ron laughed and flashed a two-fingered salute at Draco. "Harry's right. Pure doesn't matter; fresh does." He snarled at the bowl. "So his Dad and Mum can rest in peace, you arse." 

Harry was reconsidering his assessment, even as Ron flinched back. The red minnows had settled into two spinning circles. A cluster separated from Harry's, leaving the two even in size, and it darted over to Voldemort's, and then back, a trail of pink diffusing along its path. Harry felt dizzy, and had to look away. 

"He can't send too much against you," Ron commented. "That would take his wall. Don't think he knows what a bad idea this is. He thinks he weakened you, not himself." Ron sounded deeply satisfied. He was looking straight down into the bowl, his weight on his hands as if he would crawl over it. "Thinks he knows your weapons too. You're like your snake, though." 

He stopped speaking. After a moment, his mouth twitched, but still did not open. He stayed there, leaned over, watching and silent but for the occasional hum of thought. 

"Ron?" Harry asked. "Are you here?"

"Where else would I be?" The answer sounded reasonable, but he was still staring down. 

"Did you say I was like Draco?" 

"Don't think so. I mean, that I said it." Ron tilted up, blinking. "Ow." He rubbed his forehead and around his eyes with one hand. "Did I?"

"You said his 'snake,'" Draco said lightly. "I believe you have called me such things in the past." 

"Oh, that!" Ron sniggered. "No, the pretty one. More dangerous than she looks." Suddenly standing up, he seized the edge of the bowl and dumped the potion out onto the floor. With a yelp, Draco whipped out his wand and threw a Vanishing charm at the spreading puddle. Despite his efforts, an iridescence remained where the liquid had been. 

"Oh!" Ron exclaimed sadly. "But it was pretty."

"And it could soak into the cracks of the floor and do Merlin knows what." 

Ron had knelt down to touch the shimmer of residue. He pulled the cuff of his jumper down to rub at it; Harry didn't know if he was trying to clean it up, or to polish it like a mirror. "Will my hair be like that when I'm old?" he asked. 

"Like what?" 

"True silver. My great uncle Stephen had the best hair. I think it will be."

Draco's mouth twitched as he tried not to laugh. 

"I think we're done," Harry said quietly.

"Yes. But we should ask questions while he is still affected." 

"Which snake?" Harry whispered. 

"It would have to be Linnet." 

Harry nodded. "Ron." 

With a quick twist, Ron sat up, crossing his legs. "Yeah?"

"I gather you think that I'm--" Harry broke off as Ron dove for the bowl, scraping a knee when he couldn't get his legs unfolded in time. He made it just in time to vomit into the shallow vessel, ending coughing and spitting. The smell of sick and acidified potion spread through the room, even as Harry vanished the mess. To the side, he saw Draco casting as well -- probably to freshen the air. 

"Okay there, mate?" he asked, cautiously setting a hand on Ron's back. Ron gasped and coughed again. 

"No," he said plaintively. "Going to bed." He tottered to his feet. 

"I'll transfigure the sofa," Draco said. 

"My bed," Ron protested. 

"But you can't leave now. Sit down here until your head clears."

"Won't. Did what you wanted; now I get to do what _I_ want." He stepped towards the door and stumbled, pulling heavily where Harry had caught his arm.

"It will be easier to walk after a rest," Draco cajoled. Harry could see his point in trying to delay; Ron, when he crossed the Common Room, would be obviously either under the influence of something or ill, but that would only matter if someone was paying attention, and even then, it might not. 

"It should be okay as long as we don't run into Hermione," he said soothingly. 

"I doubt she's your _only_ housemate with rudimentary powers of observation." 

Harry shrugged. "So I had him out drinking, maybe. Or someone hexed him." 

"Let's try both." 

"You can't hex me!" Ron snarled. 

"As something to _say_ , Weasley, not to do." 

"Why'd you say you did that if you didn't? It's supposed to be the other way round." 

"I'd say someone else did, of course." 

Ron set his head down like a bull. "I won't back you up."

"Ron," Draco said patiently. "You are obviously either Confounded or high. I - and I expect you -- would rather have people believe the former." 

Ron blinked. Harry set a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. No one expects you to lie. Just let me see you safe back to the dormitory, okay?" 

 

They made it to Gryffindor tower unnoticed, if not unseen. Ron would occasionally stagger or veer to the side, but the Hufflepuffs in the library corridor had been heading down, away from them, and all their way up the stairs, no one else had been within a flight of their path. Harry pulled Ron away from a painting at the fourth floor landing when he stopped to tell a laughing tavern girl that he'd always thought she was pretty. _Pretty_ , Harry reflected, was Ron's word of the evening.

"Stop here a moment," Draco said, just before they reached the Fat Lady. 

"She _is_ pretty," Ron protested. "She's got those round, white...." he motioned. 

"They're called 'breasts,' Weasley. What are you, thirteen?"

"Seventeen," Ron corrected, missing the insult. "They look soft. And those dark curls." He whipped around to Harry, suddenly alarmed. "It's still winter, right?" 

"Yes. Late January." 

"I'm so cold. I'll sit by the fire." 

Draco looked as alarmed as Harry felt. 

"I think going up to the room would be better."

"But I'm cold." 

"You can get under the covers, though. You said you wanted to sleep."

Ron caught at Harry's arm. "Stay with me?" he pleaded. 

"Sure." 

"If I'm alone, I'll keep seeing--" Ron's eyes widened in alarm as he looked over Harry's shoulder. Harry gave him an awkward, one-armed hug. 

"I'll stay," he promised. "It'll be okay." 

"But--" 

"You'll be fine," Draco said firmly. "Harry will get you past everyone and up to your dormitory, and guard you until the visions stop. They're not real, and if one is, he'll protect you."

"But she is!" Ron protested. 

"This is far longer than the effect was supposed to last," Draco muttered, turning towards Harry. "The sooner he's--" He stopped, his eyes widening as Ron's had done. With a shiver of dread, Harry turned. 

"Good evening," said Hermione. 

 

She marched them all, Draco included, through the Gryffindor Common Room and into her room. People stared, but anyone who started to speak shrank back from her glare. As the door clicked shut, she pivoted to turn that glare on them. 

"Talk." 

"I couldn't find anything," Ron said, looking downcast. "Just Harry bleeding." His mouth quirked up. "You're so pretty when you're riled." 

In the seconds she was speechless, he took the few steps to her bed, and threw himself down on it with a bounce, then, just as quickly, twisted back to sick up. Harry lunged and got Hermione's waste bin in the path of it. 

"I'm so sorry," Draco said quickly. "It must be some sort of allergy. This is not a usual reaction." 

"Allergy to what?" Hermione snarled, lunging into his space. He took a step back. Harry wondered whether to intervene. He had vanished the mess, but Ron was making a miserable, wordless whine and clinging tightly to his wrist. Harry stayed put. 

"It was an Opening potion. Nothing complex! Just for enhancing divination of--" 

_"Divination."_

"I know your opinion of it," Draco said quickly, "but this is _farseeing_. We're not looking into some possible future for what might be, just _across_ at what is otherwise hidden." 

She folder her arms over her chest. "And if _that_ was reliable, Aurors would do it." 

He hesitated. "I believe they do, on occasion. One of the best texts I found was by a detective. However, the methods most likely to be effective are largely illegal."

"But you're willing to use those, of course." 

He looked steadily back into her anger. "Of course. Harry's life depends on defeating the Dark Lord. Ours as well, as known allies."

She huffed. "And babble and vomiting help that? Because I don't see it." 

"Er... The previous attempts were better, I think. The Opening potion seems counter-productive." 

She looked anxiously back at Ron. "You're certain he's not in danger?" 

"Yes. I wouldn't risk a friend of Harry's. He's on the bad end of responses, but it won't get worse this long after taking it."

"Show me all your notes." She raised her eyebrows. "You _did_ take notes, didn't you?" 

"Hermione." He dared a smile. "Of course." 

The crackle of tension eased at that. Draco rummaged in his bag. Hermione conjured some water for Ron, who had quieted, before darting back to Draco's promised notes. After a few sips, Ron rolled onto his back, and Harry sat down, still in reach. 

"I wish it wasn't red," Ron remarked. 

"What?"

"The canopy. Looking up is like looking down." 

"We won't do that one again." 

"Good. I'm tired of blood." 

"All right." 

Hermione whirled away from Draco's open notebook. _"Blood?"_ she repeated, horrified. 

"Oh, those research notes are earlier," Draco said hastily. "But yes, that was the connection. Harry's blood is in Voldemort, through it would have been more useful if the transmission went in the other direction. But still, blood is one of the strongest bonds, and--" 

"You idiots!" Hermione shouted. "All right. That's it! Harry, Ron -- you two leave here, and-- Oh. No, Ron should stay. Draco, you and I are going to the Uncommon Room, and you are telling me everything. Harry, you are taking care of our dear friend, as you _ought_." 

"I'm cold," Ron complained. "And it's not ghosts." 

Hermione tsked. "Get under the covers," she said fondly. "I won't be here, so it's all right." She turned what she could of the duvet back, and when he had squirmed under, tucked him in. She looked down at him for a moment before bending to kiss his forehead. 

"Rest." 

As his eyes closed, Ron smiled. "Thought so. You'll be a good mum after all." 

Harry had to watch her freeze, and then unnecessarily force a smile. "Rest," she said again, and whirled away, grabbing Draco's wrist in passing. The door shut behind them. 

Ron slept. 

Harry sat where he was and did _not_ go through Hermione's things. That left him without much to distract him from the question of how well Draco could handle Hermione's protective anger. Draco might be better with people than he was, but he didn't know Hermione as well. 

How long would they be gone? 

Ron moved suddenly, rolling onto his side. Harry readied for more vomiting, but Ron just took a sip of water. 

"Scabbers is going to Spain," he complained. "Lucky rat. Doesn't deserve it." And with that strange pronouncement, he dropped back to sleep.

  



	46. Reviewing Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you can't recall what Harry is talking about, I recommend chapters 10-12.

_46 -- Reviewing Progress (or lack thereof)_

 

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked, as Harry joined her at breakfast on Sunday. She looked like she was almost finished with hers. 

"Sleeping in," Harry answered, pulling a slice of toast from a rack. 

"Are you sure he's all right?" Hermione asked, almost at a whisper. 

"All right enough to tell me to go away and let him sleep," Harry answered. "You know he doesn't always have breakfast on weekends." 

Lips pursed, she nodded tightly. "Fine. But fetching him after breakfast is your job. I have to stop by the library before our study session." 

The 'study session,' of course, was a divination review in the Uncommon Room. Hermione -- or possibly Hermione and Draco -- had decided that they should all meet in the morning to discuss the sessions thus far. 

After a breakfast that he stretched out as long as he dared, Harry found himself heading back up the stairs to Gryffindor tower. He hoped that Ron was out of bed when he got there. 

 

As it turned out, Ron was not only out of bed, but out of their house. On the landing above the fourth floor, Harry saw a flash of red hair above, and, when he turned back for the next flight, Ginny and Ron coming down. Ginny scowled when she saw him. 

"Is this _your_ fault?" she demanded. "No, don't answer. Let's go somewhere more private." 

Harry wasn't sure Draco and Hermione would appreciate having a fifth person along. On the other hand, he didn't think he could stop her, and that was definitely where she was heading as she strode off down the fourth floor corridor, pulling Ron along by the wrist. Ron wasn't protesting, which was worrisome, and he was nodding at the portraits, which was worse. 

Draco, Harry decided, could come up with a way to put her off if he wanted to. 

 

As it turned out, Draco barely gave her a glance. He looked like he hadn't slept at all. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked Ron. Ron blinked.

"He told me I should _go home_ because Mum told me not to follow him!" Ginny burst out. "And that she'd worry, and it was too cold for Quidditch anyway." 

"Oh dear," Draco said. 

"And that my hair is _pretty_ in the sunlight!" she added indignantly, as if this was worse than all the rest. 

Draco handed a vial to Ron. "Drink this. It will help." 

Ron frowned. His brow creased as he focused on the vial. "Didn't I already?" 

"Yes, but something was wrong with the last one. Drink this." 

Ron hesitated. 

"Go ahead, Ron," Hermione said, from where she was sitting on a sofa, parchments spread out on the table in front of her. "Draco's just been explaining it to me." Another sofa had been moved in from the usual wide arc that worked so well for Friday gatherings to directly on the other side of the table.

Ron drank the potion, and then Ginny pulled him towards the empty sofa. He let his head thump back against the cushions, but after a moment rolled it to the side enough to look at the wall -- perhaps the ivy. Ginny held his near hand in both of hers, and she glared across the low table to Harry and Draco, who had joined Hermione. 

"Care to explain?" 

"Give him a few more minutes," Draco said. "Twice is bad enough; it doesn't need to be three times. I detest admitting error." 

"Background, then?" 

"I gave him a potion to enhance a divination."

"Divination?" Ginny exclaimed scornfully. "You have _met_ Ron, haven't you? Totally prosaic in all things." 

"Exactly, yet the earlier scryings were promising. So this was to help with..." Draco shrugged. "Well, being more receptive to the less prosaic." 

They both looked at Ron, who -- unnervingly -- had not appeared to notice the conversation. 

"Ron?" Harry tried.

It was at least five seconds later when Ron raised his head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you here?" 

Ron seemed to be considering it. He looked at the walls to either side, and then at each of them, his brow scrunched. "We're still here?" He shifted slightly away from his sister, who squeezed his hand, and then let it go. "Wait, _back_ here. Is it really tomorrow? I mean, the next day?" 

"Yes." Draco let out a harsh breath. 

"Weird." He clenched his eyes shut, but then opened them again. "Did something go wrong?" 

"A counterfeit Sphinx feather," Draco said quickly. "I went over _all_ our supplies after Hermione left last night, to see if anything was contaminated, and in examining the feathers, noticed a difference in heft. One was genuine; the other was spurious -- a Great Eagle feather, possibly dyed. _That_ was the one I used a clipping of in your potion. Rather than adding weight and wisdom to the draught, I increased your focus on physical sight, and the Dreaming head of the Runespoor had no balance."

"Oh." Ron rubbed his forehead. "Was it useful?" He straightened suddenly, with a horrified look. "That stuff I drank had a _Runespoor head_ in it?"

"Oh, not directly," Draco said airily. "Those are quite powerful ... and frightfully expensive. You soak them in a distillate and use that." 

"But Sphinx feathers," Hermione said grimly, "are illegal for trade." Harry expected the two of them had fought over this the night before. 

"Exactly why I should have been more careful," Draco agreed. "After all, it's hardly as if the buyer can protest to the DLE that he was cheated -- even if that's Harry calling on Kingsley. In my defense, I did _thoroughly_ check the first one that I unpacked -- but that was not, apparently, the one that I used."

Hermione looked. Harry thought she might ask about Draco's scenario placing him as the buyer. "Is it possible Professor Dumbledore made a similar mistake?" she said, instead. "In Harry's--" She stopped at Draco's contemptuous sniff. 

"That was quite carefully crafted." 

"But--" 

"I discussed it with him," Harry interrupted. "It was exactly what we deduced it to be." 

"Did he say why?" she asked. "I mean--" 

"He had reasons," Harry said. "Reasons enough to call me to his office and demand an explanation, I thought. _Not_ to potentially poison me." 

Crossing her arms, she leaned back into the sofa. "Explain." 

"He had memories from Theodore Nott -- anonymously left, but I could tell they were from Nott, because I _knew_ who was there -- very carefully edited to look like I was playing Dark Lord for the Slytherins." 

"But you were able to explain these to his satisfaction?" 

"Explain, no. Nothing so simple. I had to show him _my_ memories of the same events -- longer versions. Once he had the context, he said he was 'reassured,' and scolded me rather mildly about certain details." 

"Such as?" 

"Such as making myself look dangerous." Harry shrugged. "I wasn't much, but maybe a little. He pointed out that Sirius is one example of the dangers of that; people could _believe_ he'd kill someone, because he had that swagger." 

"His bloodline might have been more of a factor," Draco said dryly. 

"Well, that's why they might believe he'd follow Voldemort," Harry said. "Not the act of-- Oh! I don't think I told any of you -- Sirius told me he actually had spent a little while pretending he might be inclined to change sides; enough to get himself a personal audience with Voldemort." 

"I wouldn't even think that was possible," Ginny said.

"Well, this was back in the First War, of course; I think he was more accessible then, and sometimes tried charm before bullying." He focused on her, the other people in the room fading behind a memory of horror. "Remember the boy in the diary."

She shuddered. 

"And Sirius was the natural heir of the House of Black," Draco added. "A significant player. So did he say what he did during this audience?"

Harry grinned. "Stabbed him and apparated away." 

"Well! Shall we say capable of murder?" 

"I've never had any doubt of that," Harry said.

"Considering you had to talk him out of it, yeah," Ron put in. The words came out normally. Harry smiled at him in relief. 

"Do tell," Draco prodded, bringing him back to the matter at hand.  

"Wormtail," Harry explained. "I think I told you -- Sirius and Remus were ready to kill him, that night, and I intervened." He raked a hand through his hair. "I probably should have let them." 

"I think you did the right thing!" Hermione exclaimed. "Though I wouldn't have thought Sirius capable of assassination. That's rather different than attacking in anger." 

" _Killing_ Voldemort wasn't the goal. He probably wouldn't have minded if he had, but there had been enough failed attempts that I think they were pretty sure that stabbing him wouldn't work. The attack was to get enough blood for the spell they created so that I would develop attuned to his power--" Harry's words slowed as he recalled the sensation of pulling power from Snape's casting of the Dark Mark -- "and with five times the chance to destroy him." 

"You get kind of weird when you say things like that," Ron complained. 

"Practically glowing," Ginny agreed. "In a not-pleasant sort of way. And would someone--" 

"I didn't think it was _horrible_ ," Ron protested.

"And I didn't say that it was. Not _nasty_ ; a more neutral unearthly."

"Fey," Draco put in. "Harry, did they use anything bound to the Great Fairies?"

"I have no idea." 

"We should find out." 

"Anyway," Hermione said firmly. "Back to the divinations. We are here to review what you've done, what was said, and what you _think_ you've learned." She picked up her own notes -- parchment cut to different lengths -- and tapped them even at the bottom, but did not look at them. 

"Wait a moment," Ginny said. "Could we back up a little? What 'divinations'? For what?"

"The Dark Lord's weaknesses," Draco said. 

"With my brother?" 

"I was advised to find someone who knew me well," Harry said. "And he came out with a couple of unexpectedly accurate things during carelessly done Divination assignments, last year."

Hermione sighed. "Professor Snape," she explained, her lips tight, "took Harry to a seer, who did a Dark scrying _with his blood_ , on the theory that his blood is also in Voldemort." 

Ginny's face contorted as if she had bit into a worm. "It is?" she asked finally.

Harry suspected that was the question she could manage to voice. "Sort of," he said. "When _he_ had Wormtail create a new body for him, my blood was in the potion, along with dust from his father's bones, and Wormtail's severed arm." 

"Does that make you sort of, um, a brother?" 

Draco raised his head. "Ritually, more like a parent." 

Ron laughed and looked at Harry. "So You-Know-Who's new parents are you, Scabbers, and his actual dead father?"

Draco smirked. "That is not far off, in some regards. His previous self is in there too. Strange that he chose his Muggle parent rather than the witch. That weakens his link to Salazar Slytherin's line by a generation, now that I think about it." 

"And why include Harry?" Ginny asked. 

"Before that, he couldn't physically touch me," Harry offered. "My mother's protection burned him when we encountered each other my first year. With his new body, he can somehow -- because my blood's in there." 

"Exactly," Draco said. "It confuses the magic." He nodded at Ginny. "And because Harry's blood became his, we can use that in scrying as a referent for either. However, when Severus brought Harry to a stranger, that stranger saw more of Harry than of the Dark--"

"Will you _stop_ calling him that?" Harry snapped. "You're not a Death Eater. Don't give him a title." 

"I know you would rather that I say his name. My spellfather would much rather that I did not." 

"And aren't you Slytherin enough to chose your words for your audience?" 

Draco's mouth quirked at the challenge. "Why yes, darling. But then there are the times I am with you both. What should I call him then?" 

"Tom Riddle," Harry said promptly. "Actually, let's _all_ do that. Why let him have his made up name?" 

"I think of 'Tom Riddle' as what he was before," Hermione said tentatively. 

"And why should he get to leave that behind?" 

"Harry's right," Ginny said. "Pin it on him." With a curt nod, she sat back. "So -- you decided Ron should try this divination?'

"Well, not at first," Harry said. "We started with something safer." 

Hermione tapped her notes again. "I have Draco's account, but would like yours. Safer?" 

"Um... Well, it was a fairly standard scrying liquid, Draco said." 

"And did _you_ know anything about it?"

"Well, no, but it didn't have anything Dark in it, because he brewed it himself when he was taking care of the Quiris." 

"Quiris...." Hermione flipped two pages ahead and frowned. "So who -- never mind. When we get there. He poured this _standard_ scrying potion poured into a shallow marble bowl, and to this, added a few drops of Harry's blood, is that right?"

"Ron did," Harry clarified. "Both the pouring and the blood. To give him more control over it, I think." 

"How many drops?" Hermione asked, setting down the parchment. 

Harry frowned. "Five, maybe?"

"Four," Draco said. "It was five the next time. That's in my notes."

Hermione glared at him. "And I told you not to speak. I have your account."

Harry snorted. "Going for the Aurors, are you? I'd have figured something more academic."

"Don't try to distract me. Ron? Was it four or five?" 

Ron frowned. "Could have been four. I know it was an even number. I didn't do _that_ again."

"Why not?" 

Ron sat back. "I don't want them even." 

Hermione's face softened. "I see. So what happened?"

"He was strange -- completely focused on the scrying potion as soon as he poured it." 

"Yeah, probably," Ron said.

"So, because he was 'strange,' you thought it was effective." 

Harry shrugged. "At the time, I wasn't sure. But there were two things." He and Draco had discussed this afterwards. "First, he sent _Diffindo_ at the potion, but it didn't split the bowl; it just split the _blood_. That's weird." 

"You'd asked me to tell you from him in the blood," Ron protested. 

"Right, but _Diffindo?_ But it worked for you. That's something that indicates a wizard's or witch's affinity for the casting. Then you talked about Rodolphus Lestrange killing your dad, and said Nott would kill someone that night." Harry turned to Hermione. "And when we asked him, he came out of it and shrugged it off, and said it was just 'blood in the water.' But the next morning, we read about the victim, and that woman who found the body, and the first thing she saw was blood in the water." 

Hermione looked up from the notes she was making on her notes. "And was there anything of use in this?"

"We hadn't asked for that," Harry said honestly. "The first time, all we were asking was if he could tell me from Voldemort in a blood divination." 

"And from this, you decided he could?"

Harry scowled. " _I_ damn well didn't have Nott kill some Auror and drop his body in a stream." 

There was a moment of silence. 

"Clearly." Hermione moved to the second, longer, sheet. "The next divination? Ron?"

"Same potion, I think." Ron hunched over. "It was easier to remember what I was doing." 

"Draco wanted him to take blood from my scar," Harry said. "We both said no." 

"Well I'm glad you have _some_ sense!"

"It's the past," Ron said. 

"Yeah." 

She sighed. "Or maybe not." 

"But Draco changed the bowl shape for me so I could have separate images."

"Is that what it does?" Draco asked. 

"More or less. Harry is on one side, and You-Know-- um, Tom Riddle -- is on the other." 

"What did you find?" Hermione asked. 

"That time, they'd asked about his weaknesses."

Hermione waited. 

"He can't do things sensibly. You'd think he'd want to win more than anything, but he wants an audience for it more." 

"Which is true," Harry put in. "And you said his hatred blinds him." 

"And that your capacity for love at times blind you, but is ultimately a strength." 

"Draco," Hermione warned. 

"I wrote down the actually words!" Draco protested. "Why are we reviewing potentially faulty memories?"

"You were the ones who decided to pursue this _ambiguous_ method. I want to know what people heard, as well as what was said." 

"That was it," Ron said. "I mean, there was some weird stuff about girls and boys, and then I accidentally saw some of what turns _him_ \-- Riddle -- on, and I'd just as soon forget that, thanks." 

"Harry?" 

If Hermione had seen the text, she would know to let the part about girls and boys go, Harry reasoned. 

"We've pretty much covered it. He described love--" Harry couldn't quite say _my love_ \-- "as a tree that people can meet at." 

"What he said was 'it grows out from you, and people gather around it.'" Hermione said, reading off her notes. She took a breath. "So there was _nothing_ in here that you didn't already know." 

"But as Draco said, it's all worth thinking about." 

She nodded. "Of course. It's always worth considering what you know." 

"Well, no," Draco objected. "It isn't. We also know that the Dark Lord's new body has no nose, for example, but that does us no good." 

"A Bat-Bogey hex!" Ginny exclaimed. "I bet it would be even worse!"

"Great," Ron said. "We'll send _you_ after him." 

"I'll help with backup," Harry said, grinning. "I have a pretty good shield spell." 

Hermione actually smiled, but it faded as she moved to the third sheet. "And then _this._ "

"Oh, the seer's divination? Yeah, that was really creepy."

"And _how_ did you manage the brewing? Bugbear claws? Draco, as you reminded me earlier, would not have been able to work with those. Did Professor Snape?"

"No. He isn't involved. I did it." 

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. "Harry...." 

"It's not that bad. I couldn't go near the Quiris for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't anything like having _cast_ something Dark." 

"Disturbing to watch, though," Draco volunteered, in face of Hermione's unease. "He was trailing a claw up one arm, like he might cut himself open on a whim. As soon as it was in, I had him do a grounding exercise -- an infinity symbol with Lumos, changing color at each upward cross." 

"And you still used this," she said angrily. 

"We'd gone to rather a lot of trouble by then."

"Did you learn anything?" 

Harry glanced at Ron, and found him blushing. 

"Well . . . Nothing useful. Harry is his _bane_. That's a weird old word, but the only one that works. I haven't been able to say how, though."

"You actually said quite a lot, that time," Harry objected. "That he can't change, and I can." He grimaced. "I think that  maybe I need to die." 

"No!" Hermione and Draco said in unison. Hermione leaned forward. "Don't go getting into one of your pig-headed, obsessive theories now! That's absurd." 

"And not really what he said," Draco contributed. "I didn't get a chance to break all the protections on Father's Pensieve when I was home, but I'm quite sure the end was 'change allows death.'" That doesn't necessarily mean the death of the changer. Prophesy is notoriously misleading, which was why we were _trying_ to concentrate on farseeing." 

"You didn't get to the Pensieve?" Ron said derisively. "Too busy having fun at home?"

Draco glared. "I _expected_ to have the day after the ball to work on it uninterrupted. Unfortunately, Mr. Parkinson was inconveniently murdered after Mother evicted him, so that day was taken up with Auror interviews, writing letters to Pansy and tearing them up, and far too much time sitting in my room, reminding myself to breathe." 

Harry readied himself to stop Ron's derisive retort, but Ron just let out a shaky breath and nodded. "Yeah. Okay. That would get in the way." 

"And there _are_ layered curses on it," Draco said, more quietly. "I looked enough to see that. It wouldn't do to proceed recklessly." 

"Maybe I could take a look?" Harry offered. He winced. "I mean, not that you're not-- I mean, you said I was--" 

"Yes, dearest," Draco said, smirking. "I am good at it; you are a tad better." 

"Why not bring it to Professor Hecksban?" Ron asked. "I mean, I know I said that about blood curses too, but he's here, and he's good at it -- Bill even says so -- and this is something you own, and it's okay to have." 

"That's a good point," Draco said. "Though he might think I should be able to handle it." He brightened. "I know! I could ask him to supervise my work. He would keep me from any fatal mistakes, I'm sure, and might even give me credit for the attempt." 

Ginny snorted. "Good to see you're earning that green tie, Malfoy." 

"As always," he said loftily.

"So, last night's divination," Hermione prompted.

"Oh, that." Harry looked at Draco. He had notes, certainly? Although he and Hermione had already reviewed those. "That this whole blood thing was a weakness for _him_ , somehow." 

"But he doesn't know it," Ron added. 

"And that purity of blood was unimportant," Draco said coolly. Hermione did not chide him, this time.

"That he doesn't know my abilities as well as he thinks he does." Harry looked over at Hermione. She was curled sulkily back from her notes, quill tapping on her robes. The black would hide any dots of ink. "What do you think, Hermione?" he asked. 

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing in thought, and then sat up straighter. "Personally? I think this was a lot of dangerous and ethically questionable behavior to discover nothing you could not assert through logical analysis."

"But--" 

" _However,_ I will reserve my final judgment until we have the pensieve viewing."

"I'll talk to Mother." 

Ignoring Draco, Hermione glared at Harry. "Why did you not tell me about what Professor Dumbledore said? And this story about Sirius meeting Voldemort?" 

Harry thought back. "Sirius was over the summer," he said. "And there were so many other things to say -- and so much to argue about. I didn't even remember to tell Draco, honestly.

"Talking with Professor Dumbledore -- that was after the ball, and Mr. Parkinson's head, and after that was the attack at the funeral. By the time you got back it was the least of my worries." 

Her expression softened. "All right, then. That was a lot." 

"Cracked boughs," Ron said, and then winced. "Sorry."

"No," Draco said. "You had a point." 

Hermione sighed. "If this is telling you anything -- and I have my doubts about that -- if it is, I still think you are asking the wrong question." 

Draco looked intrigued. "Do tell." 

"Think about it. You don't need to know what Voldemort's weakness are -- those are _obvious_. We need to know what strengths Harry should _use_." She frowned. "We'll look again when we have the Pensieve."

"About last night...." Harry advanced.

"Yes?" 

"After you left...." Harry steeled himself. "Ron said Scabbers was going to Spain."

"Really?" Draco asked, intrigued, as Hermione huffed.

"I remember that," Ron said vaguely. "I was annoyed about it." 

"And?" 

"No idea." 

"I think we should do the safe divination again," Draco asserted. "Hermione, you can attend, if you wish."

"Now?" Ron asked. 

"No. You need time to recover."

"Absolutely no sooner than next weekend," Hermione said. Draco looked at Harry, who shrugged. He certainly wouldn't know if Draco didn't.

"Agreed," Draco responded, his intake of breath audible. "We will use the safest divination -- _un_ augmented -- next Saturday, and we will ask only about Wormtail." 

"Not with Harry's blood." 

"Clearly. This connection is through Ron, and _not_ by blood." 

 

After leaving the council, Harry didn't want to return to Gryffindor. He decided this was a good time to talk to Dumbledore about blood curses. When he got to the gargoyle, it moved aside without a password. As the staircase spiraled up, Harry wondered if it had been told to watch for him. 

"Mr. Potter!" the headmaster exclaimed, turning from Fawkes, who trilled a welcome. "How good to see you." He looked keenly over his half-moon glasses. "I must admit, I had been expecting you yesterday." 

"I saw you were back," Harry answered, "but it wasn't a good time." At a directing wave from Dumbledore, he settled in a chair by the fire. Dumbledore moved into the obliquely set one. "But, yes. I did notice you were gone after the first attack on the graves. Are you managing the protections?" 

Dumbledore, rather than demurring, nodded. "They were not mine originally, but I have arranged -- and assisted with -- recent enhancements. I could do no less for Lily and James, and the many who loved them. However, other pressing matters have also kept me away from the school, or secluded with my own studies." He waved his hand, and a small table appeared within reach of both of them. It held a tea service for two, but -- unusually for the headmaster -- nothing sweet, other than the cubes in the sugar bowl. 

"Naturally, these attacks would be upsetting to you, as they are to most of those who knew them -- indeed to any stranger with a sense of decency -- but they are not our first priority. We will do the best that we reasonably can. I have asked that no one risk his or her life in the effort -- although some of the old crowd may find that difficult to abide by."

He watched Harry keenly as he said the last, and Harry, suspecting his understanding was being judged, nodded. 

"Right. I know it's not objectively worth it, but I couldn't hold back if I was there."

"You are not, then, concerned about the possibility of harm to you via this means?" 

"No."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Did you discuss this with someone else in my absence?" 

"Well, Professor Snape, because Draco and I interrupted him when he was brewing the phantasm potion. We're planning to talk to Professor Hecksban as well, on Monday. Draco made a logical point too, though -- that if this was a serious threat, witches and wizards wouldn't be buried." 

"I am surprised you did not talk to Professor Hecksban after the first report." 

Harry shrugged. He wasn't going to say he hadn't thought of it. "I can't tell him I might be critical to defeating Voldemort, can I? But Professor Snape seems to know it." 

"And do you think that he would require such surety to advise you?" Dumbledore chided. "I am certain you would not, in his place. Draco Malfoy may have taught you strategy, but that is not why you befriended him."

Chastened, Harry looked away, and the headmaster's voice softened. "I do recall that conversation," he continued, almost wistfully. "Rarely have you come to me for counsel, and even more rarely do I have time for social frivolities around it. Remember, Harry, that whatever strategic importance you may have, you are still entitled, as everyone is, to be concerned about your safety for your own sake."

Whilst Harry was still dizzy with that, Professor Dumbledore poured tea -- first for Harry, then for himself -- and set a quilted cozy over the pot. "You will recall," he said, adding two cubes of sugar to his own cup, "our previous discussion, the last time we sat in this spot?" 

Harry wondered if this place by the fire was to be for that. "There's an organized group of people -- ones who might show up to defend against Death Eater attacks, or to investigate their plans."

Dumbledore nodded. "Or to plan future moves, or to brew potions. And yes -- you are correct that Professor Snape is one of that group, although I would still counsel you to consider his advice with care." 

"Yeah, I think I've learned that," Harry said, getting a chuckle from the old man. "And other Professors? I thought Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick might be involved as well." 

"Many noble individuals are involved in different ways," Dumbledore said cryptically. "For example, Hagrid often accepts specific tasks for me, but often without sensitive information about the larger plan. I consider him one of our number, but he is not a strategist." 

Harry nodded. "He wouldn't care if I was important or not, anyway." 

Dumbledore smiled. "Quite true. You have value to his heart, in any case." 

Harry smiled, even as he prepared himself to argue. "So your point is that I should accept that I don't get a list of names?"

"Not at all, my boy. It is true that I will not tell you everyone who is involved, but that is not my _point_. Rather, if you are quite _certain_ that someone is involved -- and I will confirm the three professors you mentioned, and add Remus Lupin and Sirius Black -- that does not mean you can assume what that person knows, or that you should tell them all that you know."

"Once I know something." 

"Touché." He set his cup aside. "I will not give you a list, but you may hear one of us talk about 'the old crowd' in a certain way. This is what we mean -- the people we worked with in the last war ... and also our younger associates." He hesitated. "You should consider, Harry, if there are those of your companions that you think we might trust." He held up his hand. "No, do not answer -- not yet. I have asked you to _consider_ the matter; I will ask for your answer at some other time." 

Harry held back all the suggestions that wanted to tumble out -- the twins, Hermione, Ron, Draco, and others -- and nodded. He reached for sugar for his tea. The beads on his wrist -- two bands, now -- clinked against the porcelain side of the bowl. Dumbledore's gaze flicked down to the noise. 

"That ornamentation has become quite popular." 

Harry laughed, relieved that the headmaster didn't seem concerned. "Yeah. Draco and I started a bit of a fad." 

"I see. The _new_ crowd?"

That was perceptive enough to set Harry back for a moment. He took a swallow of the tea, unsweetened. "We're working on it." 

"There are quite a few Slytherins." 

"And they're good to have." 

"But more likely to be a risk." 

"Our _traitor,_ " Harry said carefully "-- I mean, I'm sure there are others, but the one affecting my life -- was a _Gryffindor_ named Peter Pettigrew."

"True." For a few breaths, the headmaster looked into the flames, his shoulders bowed. "We have lost many, and not all to death." He raised his head. "But you did not come here to listen to an old man's regrets. Is there anything else you wish to ask about your current situation?" 

Harry nodded. "My real question, actually. Professor Snape said I might be at some risk through an attack on Aunt Petunia, but in limited ways. Do you agree?" 

The old man's expression grew grim. "I would certainly not challenge Professor Snape on knowledge of Dark curses. His years as a Death Eater taught him much that I would rather he did not know. However, all knowledge has gaps; I will not assert the negative in this case. Neither he nor I know of a means to cause you irreparable harm through her." 

"Right." That was less reassuring than Harry had hoped. "Well, I'll talk to Professor Hecksban about it, if that's all right." 

"A good choice, I believe." 

"Is she being protected?" Harry tried to sound concerned, rather than curious. He wanted to know if Dumbledore would tell him as much as Snape had.

"I have not embedded a guard in her house against her will. I still hope to persuade her to accept one. For now, someone is staying near enough to respond to an attack." 

"Okay. Good." 

"We certainly expect--" 

The fire flared. "Albus?" a low voice called. Kingsley, Harry was sure, although his face was a blurred dark oval, as if seen though frosted glass. The headmaster swept his wand at the fire. With a ringing of bells -- four notes in sequence, three up and one down -- the view clarified. 

"Oh good, you're there," Kingsley said. "Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Kingsley." 

"Am I interrupting?"

"I believe we could be done," the headmaster said, rising. Harry stood as well. "Some day we shall get to actually socialize again -- or to have those wandless magic lessons." 

"I'd like that," Harry said, pleased to feel that he meant it. "Thank you, sir." As he started for the door, Dumbledore turned back to the fire. 

"Is there trouble, Kingsley?"

"Just those damn Dursleys," Kingsley growled. "Geoff suggested we just throttle them and be done with it, and he's usually amiable with anyone. Could you...." 

The voice faded behind Harry as the stairway descended. It felt much better than being ushered out in silence. He wondered if the sequence of bells informed Kingsley of how much could be said.


	47. Next of Kin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice long chapter for you! The next one may not be as quick; the scenes as plotted need reordering, and I also intend to start posting Blood Magic.

_47 -- Next of Kin_

 

Harry slipped into the seat beside Draco in Cursebreaking on Monday. Professor Hecksban was still arranging a few items at up at the front of the class. "I can't stay after," he whispered.

"Why not?" 

"McGonagall. When she was handing back my essay, she told me to come to her office directly after lessons." 

"Very well. How long does that usually take?"

"Usually? That doesn't _usually_ happen." 

"Of course. Ill-supervised Gryffindors." Draco's voice had crept up to a quiet conversational level. Harry nudged him. "Think she was told something?" he said quietly.

Draco gave him a sharp look and opened his book. _Hermione might tell,_ he wrote, _but she would also warn you._

Harry considered that. He was fairly sure Hermione wouldn't tell, once she'd said she wouldn't, which she had.

 _Ginny didn't promise_ , he wrote. _About that._ Now that he thought about it, she'd said they needed to talk, when there was time.

Draco sighed. "Well, I will ask him about his office hours. Send me a note when you're available." 

 

On the way to McGonagall's office, Harry worried about what it might mean. Ginny hadn't promised to be silent, but only because no one had asked. She was far more likely to dispense a few jinxes than to give up a secret. However, there were other things his head of house could have found out about -- the Uncommon Room, for example, or the satyr's hooves he had ordered for Mill. Firmly, he reminded himself that the summons could be something about his schoolwork. It could even, he realized suddenly, cheering, be something about the 'old crowd.'

At the door, he steeled himself, tried for an expression that was more curious than anxious, and stepped inside. 

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Indeed, Mr. Potter." She flicked out her wand and close the door. "I am afraid I must ask you some questions. Come here, please." 

Now genuinely worried, he approached her desk. She stood behind it, making him more anxious still. 

"Stretch out your hands." 

He hesitated. 

"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?"

"If Portkeys worked here, I'd ask you to turn into a cat first." 

Her mouth quirked in a restrained smile, which was reassurance enough. He held out his hands, and since he was unsure why, twisted them from palm up to palm down. "Hands," he said. 

Reaching across the desk, she caught a strand of beads with one long finger.

"Tell me about _this_." 

He burst out laughing. Embarrassed, he tried to quiet himself, but his response had done some good, as she visibly relaxed. "Um -- it's a bit of jewelry." 

"And?" she asked, smiling now.

Magic obstructed an easy explanation. "It's complicated," he said. "Why are you asking?"

"Hm." She let go of the strand. "Can you take it off?"

"Sure," he answered, and pinched the cord, lengthening it until the loop slipped over his hand. He followed that with the second. "Beads on a string."

"An unusually asymmetric collection of beads," she returned. She tapped her wand next to the strings. "They have garnered some attention." 

"They're kind of supposed to." 

She frowned. "Attention amongst the staff, Harry." 

"Oh." 

"Rumors have been circulating about what each color stands for. I suspect it's all nonsense -- the usual hysteria about young people's fashions. However, each Head of House has agreed to ask one of our students. So. Tell me, and we'll be done with it." 

"I..." He bit his lip. "It's-- There's minor secrecy pact about it. I can't answer something that broad."

She swept her wand back and forth over the beads. Four long ones, in house colors, glowed. "These four are charmed."

His mouth went dry. "Yes." 

"Why?"

In that, at least, he was confident. "So that I will have help when I need it." 

After a long look in his eyes, she nodded. "I accept that. Well. What more can you tell me?"

"About what?" 

"Colors." 

He looked at the beads, and thought. 

"Today, if you might, Mr. Potter?" 

"I can't say anything about a color. Not because of the charm, but because..." He shrugged. "There isn't a real answer."

"Then I will be more precise. What does a green bead mean?" 

"Nothing. A particular green bead...." He lifted his hands. The secrecy pact kept deflecting him. "The person who makes you take a bead gets to choose its color."

She looked at the strands on the desk like a cat studying a spider. 

"So each bead represents some sort of pact?"

Harry winced. "More like ... losing a bet? It's just a parlor game, really." He picked up his older strand, festooned with copious green, among pink, blue, white, red, brown and other beads. "I lose to Slytherins a lot." 

McGonagall sighed. "So. This is nothing that concerns me?" 

"No. I mean, _right_ \-- it doesn't." 

"Can you tell me, at least, what _one_ of the beads is for? That is, why someone made you take it." 

Biting his lip, Harry looked down at the string. He should still be able to tell about one, even after as much as he had said already. "Um." He chose the first yellow one. "This ... this was because I got in trouble at home as a child for doing accidental magic." 

"Oh." McGonagall studied the bead as if it might confess on his behalf. "And you were given this by a Hufflepuff?"

"Um, no, a Slytherin, but he thought it was a very Hufflepuff predicament." 

"Ah." McGonagall's mouth again had that decided twitch that meant she was trying not to laugh. "The tamer meaning relayed to us was that it represented a Hufflepuff conquest." She raised her eyes. "The _other_ is not repeatable." Clearing her throat, she pushed the second strand at him. "Very well, Harry. I find your explanation -- scant as it was -- sufficient. You may go -- but do continue to spend adequate time on your class work between games. " 

 

"Oh, there you are!" Professor Hecksban said brightly. Harry hadn't been in his office before. It had lots of shelves, all covered with little Egyptian artifacts. Stepping inside, Harry revised that. The ones to the right, where Draco was standing, were Egyptian, but the few behind the professor's desk looked more English, and the shelves to the left held something else that he couldn't place the style of. There were no chairs for visitors.

"That's my American collection," the professor said, darting up beside him. "The majority are Mayan, from Mexico or near it, but I have a few Aztec pieces that are a little more challenging. We're going to start looking at those -- well, the Mayan ones -- in February."

"We are?" 

"You can't rely on European and Mediterranean systems to work on _everything_ , you know." 

"Oh." Harry mostly thought of magic as universal, but of course it wouldn't be. "I suppose that makes sense." 

"So." Professor Hecksban leaned back his desk. "Is this class work, or something more complicated? You're both doing well, if you're wondering."

"I would hope so," Draco said, "It's rather more complicated, and we have two matters of inquiry." He looked to the side. "Harry, perhaps you should go first." 

"All right. Harry couldn't recall what the second matter was. "So, I know I'm not in any danger from the attacks on the graves -- my parents' graves -- but I have an aunt, and we're less sure about that." 

"Ah, yes. I've heard about that concern." He hoisted himself up and back, so he was sitting on the worn surface of the desk. "Well, they can't kill you that way; at least not directly."

"And indirectly?" Draco asked dryly. 

"They might be able to cause a condition that would make a fatal accident -- or a failure in defense -- more likely." He focused on Harry. "Professor Snape said that you have no bond with your aunt; is that true?" 

"Yeah." Harry hesitated. _No bond_ was different from a simple lack of affection. He considered it. "Yes." 

"Are you certain?" 

"Yes. I mean, we definitely don't love or like each other, which is what people usually ask. But also...."

"Is she family?"

"Not really." 

"Good." Hecksban shrugged. "Actually, quite bad in the larger sense -- Professor Dumbledore was dismayed at Snape's certainty over the matter -- but good for you now. It does limit the direct harm that can be done to you remotely." Swinging his legs like a boy on a dock, he slid forward and off the desk surface. "There is nothing you can do to protect yourself in advance, and others are working on prevention, so worrying about it is pointless." He grinned. "Write a great essay for me instead. Next question?"

Draco stepped forward. "My father had a Pensieve." 

"Not surprising. Was it confiscated? I don't have great Ministry contacts." 

"No. I have it now. However...." Draco hesitated. "It is not currently _usable_. I might have mentioned that my father was rather given to excess in matters of curses?" 

"Hm." Hecksban's attention sharpened. "I have heard that. What does it do?"

"I'm not sure. But whilst home, I wished to use it, and applying your lessons, examined it first. I am quite certain it has at least two layers of protective curses."

"Well, your studies have been useful, then! Good. Did you attempt to lift them?" 

"I had inadequate time." Draco hesitated. "I also thought it inadvisable to do so alone. You say yourself that cursebreaking is better done with a partner." 

"True. So where do I come into this? Do you have specific questions about identifying these curses?" 

"Not exactly. I thought -- here's an opportunity for study. If I were to bring the Pensieve here -- it does appear safe to move it, unactivated -- would you be willing to supervise my attempts?" 

The professor looked startled by the suggestion. He considered it. "That would be a large amount of time to give to a single student." 

Draco stiffened. "I could pay your standard rate, I expect."

" _Not_ my objection. As a professor, I am limited in contract work, and certainly could not take a contract with a student. I'm more concerned about the inequity of opportunity. Still, it _is_ a good idea.

"Here -- what about this: if you will let me invite the other seventh year students to observe, I am willing to set aside three evenings for the effort. After that, if you have not broken the protections, I will give you recommendations for professionals."

"I would rather not work in front of a crowd." 

"Oh, I doubt many of them will show up. Anyone attending will need to give up their evening as well." 

"And submit ten inches on what was done and why," Draco said firmly. The professor laughed. 

"Good plan! Yes, that will limit it to the truly interested." He stuck out his hand. "Agreed." 

They shook on it. 

"Stop by again, if you like. And earlier, when I said you were doing well? I would recommend either of you for an apprenticeship." From a desk drawer, he took out a thick, narrow packet, and handed it to Harry. "Look these over, and let me know if you're interested."

"And I am to settle for the compliment?" Draco said coldly. 

Hecksban squinted at him. "You're a _Malfoy_ ," he answered. "Are you likely to pursue a career?" Not waiting for an answer, he extracted another packet and gave it to Draco. "I meant it sincerely. I liked you from that first day, you know, much to my surprise."

"Thank you," Draco said. "And I _am_ evaluating options. Money isn't the only factor."

After goodbyes, they stepped out into the hallway. 

"I hadn't considered that," Draco confessed, as they approached the stairs. 

"What?" 

"That professors might think I would not be interested in career recommendations. I've been feeling slighted." He lifted the flap of his packet to look inside. "This looks intriguing. Mixed house space?" 

"Fine with me." 

"The meeting with your Head of House was trivial, I gather?" 

"Oh!" Harry laughed. He shook down his beads and extended his arm. "Just about these. Let me tell you...."

 

In the mixed-house space, they spent the time until dinner looking over the materials. Each packet contained an exciting map-folded brochure from the Freelance Cursebreaker's Guild, about the thrill of the career and the opportunities to develop new skills; a more formal booklet-style brochure from Gringotts highlighting the monetary rewards available to the proficient; and another booklet-style one from St. Mungo's with stories of successfully broken curses that Harry thought would have Hermione in sniffles and smiles. There were also sample apprentice contracts for various types of work, all from the guild. 

 

The next few days went by swiftly. Now that Millicent was better with glamours, Harry met her only on Tuesday and Thursday, for the walk down to Hagrid's, and on Sunday, for brewing. Sometimes he stayed to socialize during her lessons. They'd tromped out to change two salt licks the week before, and had some fun tossing bits of meat to the thestrals. Millicent still couldn't see them, so it was a different experience for her. 

"How's the new potion?" he asked on Thursday, as they made their way down the hill through the shallow snow. Millicent's usual stride seemed hesitant, and while the sun had made the surface slippery, her boots seemed like they should have good enough tread for it. 

"Not bad," she said. She looked nervously behind them. "Except -- awkward personal question? You can tell me to piss off, if you like." 

"I'll hear it," he said. 

"Well, one of things this does -- um, you probably recall -- one of my female bits is growing into a --" her voice cracked slightly, "er, penis. I mean, it's not exactly that yet, and it's still really tiny. But it seems to want to _practice_ , for no reason at all. Is that normal?"

"Oh." He sniggered. "Um, yeah. I mean, I guess." 

"The book said this course was 'like puberty,' but it didn't go into details -- except for an example of growing hair. And saying the timeline was compressed." 

Harry tried his absolute best to look serious. "Consider it normal, then."

"You're _laughing_ at me." 

"Shouldn't I be? You signed up for this. And you know what's in that potion!" 

"Right enough." She shrugged. "Okay. Let's say it's working." She was red in the face, and Harry suspected he was as well. 

"Race you!" Mill said suddenly, and took off thundering through the snow. Harry followed. It covered for the awkwardness, at any rate. They showed up at Hagrid's hut wet and muddy from slides down the slope, but it was nothing a few warming and drying charms couldn't fix. Harry had just finished his own, and was going to ask if Mill needed help, when Hagrid's door opened. 

"Come on in, Harry," he said, stepping outside. "Dumbledore jus' called for yeh -- he's waitin' inside. Mill, we'll be prunin' the apple trees, includin' some wi' bowtruckles in residence."

Mill looked past him, brows furrowed, and Harry sent back a reassuring smile. "See you tomorrow, then," he said cheerily, and stepped into the warm, smoky hut. 

Professor Dumbledore, who was standing in front of the great fireplace as if he had just flooed in, greeted him with a quick nod. "Mr. Potter. It is good I knew where to find you." He held out the jar of Floo powder. "Call 'Hogwarts Headmaster's Office.' The grate is open to you. We will speak there." 

Despite the unusually terse manner, Harry had no doubt this was Dumbledore. Without hesitation, he took the powder, threw it on the fire, and stepped in, calling out "Hogwarts Headmaster's office," as instructed. This close, the usual sweeping ride of the Floo connection was compressed almost to stepping through a door -- except for the exit. Rather then being pushed out with such force that he had to stumble forward to keep his balance, he was thrust into air the consistency of syrup, and had to strain to continue towards the wavy golden vision of Dumbledore's office, with three chairs arranged by the fire, and a House Elf clearing tea things away. Harry wondered if he might have been tricked. 

He came clear with a sudden pop forward. The House Elf -- clearly real -- bobbed and vanished, and he just had time to turn before Dumbledore strode out. 

"I was almost stuck," he complained.

"Yes. My grate has unusual protections. However, this is not the time to discuss them. I am afraid our effort to guard your aunt has failed, at least temporarily." 

Harry froze. Mentally, he scanned down his body. He felt fine.

"We do not believe she was abducted, so this is not yet a crisis. She went to her husband's office yesterday, and while her guard watched her parked automobile, they left by other means. This was not noticed until the offices closed and they did not emerge. A large number of people searched for them throughout the night."

"And you didn't tell me then?" 

"Remus determined that your uncle's car was gone from the garage, so we believe they chose to evade us. I expected to be able to retrieve them today through your cousin. However, the representative I sent to Smeltings School floo-called a short while ago. She reported that she was delayed for several hours, only to be told that his parents had taken him out of lessons yesterday, citing a family emergency." 

Harry's growing dread quivered under a burst of irritation. "The idiots! They ran away rather than letting you protect them." 

"So it would seem." Dumbledore sighed. "However, even if she is caught, there are some attempts our enemies may make that will do no harm if you are in safe environs. As I was about to leave to help with the search effort -- reassuring myself with the thought that at least you were safely here at school -- I recalled Hagrid saying that you usually escort Miss Bulstrode down to her Tuesday and Thursday lessons. Even those familiar tracks on the grounds present dangers for you now. I must ask that you not leave the walls of Hogwarts Castle, even in the presence of friends, until your aunt has been located. Also, do not take any risks within it, as the effects may be magnified."

Harry grimaced, but he could not help but remember Snape's warning when he suggested cursing Nott's bloodline to get at his uncle. _What if this 'bad luck' caused his young cousin to fall out of a tree and break her neck?_ "Understood, sir."

"I trust you to be alert. If you experience any unusual pain or impairment in my absence, please go immediately to Professor Hecksban, or if he is not available, to Professor Snape." Dumbledore set a hand on his shoulder. "Now, my boy, I'm afraid you must leave before me. I cannot set full protections on my office while anyone is in it." 

He waved to the door. Turning towards it brought back all of Harry's annoyance at his upcoming confinement. Pushing that down, he paused, hand on the latch, and turned. 

"Good luck, sir."

"And good luck to you also, Harry. I expect they are one and the same." 

 

When Draco and Hermione got out of Ancient Runes, Harry was waiting for them. He had forgotten that Dean and Seamus also had the class, and hadn't known that Sophia and Jeremy did. 

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked. 

Harry hesitated. If one of the people walking by worked for Voldemort, or had a parent who did, he didn't want it out that his aunt was unprotected. "Just wanted to talk," he said. "Not here, though." 

"Shall we take a walk, then?" Draco suggested, starting to move towards the back staircase, probably to take them clear of the cluster of people faster. Hermione followed. So did Seamus and Dean. Ernie Macmillan was a little bit ahead of them. "Perhaps the lake?" 

"I can't leave the castle," Harry confessed.

Dean snorted. "Sorry!" he said quickly.

"Look," Seamus asked. "Is this important? I mean -- a yellow emergency, or red?" 

Dean's brow furrowed. 

"Hard to say." Harry thought. A summons hadn't occurred to him, but this might be a good test. "Yellow, I suppose." 

"I'll come along, if you don't mind." 

They had all stopped, and the corridor was now empty. Occasional clacks and whooshes came from the open door of the classroom as Professor Sinistra cleaned.

"Am I welcome?" Dean asked plainly, eyes locked on Harry. Harry hesitated. 

"I'd been going to suggest it tomorrow," Seamus said, but Draco shook his head.

"Then it will wait for tomorrow."

"We've brought people without everyone's approval before," Harry argued.

"Not with others coming," Draco returned. "And in any case, I still have reservations about him." 

Dean's eyes flashed with anger. "Because I'm a Muggleborn?" he challenged. 

Draco stepped up to him. "Because I am _quite_ certain -- although he has never confirmed it -- that you were among those who landed him in the hospital wing last spring."

Dean retreated. Hermione gasped as he looked down. 

"Dean!" 

"It was stupid," he said. "I shouldn't have gone along with it, and--"

"You should have stopped it!" she exclaimed. 

"Look," Harry said, moving in, "it was between us, we talked it out, and you can all drop it now, okay?" He turned to Dean. "I can't invite you to this particular conference, because of other people involved, but you can absolutely know what it was about. Catch me in the dormitory before dinner, and I'll explain." 

Dean nodded, still looking uneasy. Seamus glanced back and forth between them several times. "And I'll wait for that summary as well, then," he said lightly, and turned to clap Dean on the shoulder. "Come on. _We're_ not forbidden a spot of fresh air." 

Dean twitched away, but walked away beside him. Harry caught Hermione's arm and headed in the other direction. Ernie was gone by now. "Let's go," he said. 

"Harry, I need to report--" 

"No you don't."

"He could have killed--"

"It's better now. He learned something. Don't mess that up." 

"I do find myself torn," Draco said mildly. Around a corner from the classroom, he stopped. "Signal now?" he suggested. "It will be a quicker walk from lessons than from houses." 

Nodding, Harry did a quick visual check around them, located the long Hufflepuff bead on his bracelet, drew his wand, and tapped it. The bead glowed brightly for a moment, and then dimmed and warmed. "I should learn to do that wandless," he muttered. "All right. Let's go." 

 

When they arrived at the Uncommon Room, a number of people were already there. Susan, Hannah, and Linnet were sitting together on the blue sofa, and Luna, Ginny, Neville on the brown one. Blaise was slumped in an armchair looking like he'd rather be in bed, and Padma had another armchair. Linnet turned when they entered. 

"Was it one of you?" she asked. 

"Me," Harry admitted. "Not really a crisis, but ..." 

"Obviously," Padma said. "That's why we have colors." 

"Gilbert's busy," Linnet said. "He said to do a second summons if he was needed."

"That's a good method," Hermione said approvingly, as she, Harry, and Draco sat on the white sofa that Harry didn't particularly like. Ron perched on the chaise longue nearby. 

"So--" Harry began awkwardly. 

Cornelia came in. "Hi." She looked at the free chairs, and then joined Ron on the chaise longue. 

"We need more sofas," Harry said. "This isn't even everybody." 

Cornelia laughed. "Not why you called us, I hope?"

"No. Um...." Harry looked at the passageway, but didn't hear anyone else coming in. "I'm sure you've all seen that rot in the Daily Prophet about how Vold -- Tom Riddle -- that's Voldemort; I've decided to use his real name -- is attacking my parents' graves so he can place some kind of curse on me." The room fell silent. Harry pressed on. "Can't be done. However, he might be able to do me some damage through my mother's sister, who's alive -- that's according to Snape and Hecksban both." 

"But she's being protected," Hermione said anxiously.

"Well, she _was._ That's what this is about. She and my uncle didn't like having freaks around, so they took my cousin out of school and vanished."

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed, while Draco snapped, "The absolute imbeciles!"

"Why would there be 'freaks?'" Luna asked. 

"It's what they call wizards and witches." 

"Oh," she said, "poor Harry." 

Harry shrugged. "It's all right." 

She nodded slightly. "You get to say so." 

"So what do we do?" Ron asked. 

"We can't actually _do_ anything," Harry said. "That's why yellow -- and I feel kind of stupid dragging everyone in here. Leaving school to look for them would be useless and put me in more danger, and Professor Hecksban said there's no way to protect myself beforehand, but I thought everyone should know, in case something happens, or just if I'm acting, you know, strange. I'll need to be more cautious than usual, because one curse that could work with an indirect relation is a bad luck sort of thing. And I need to stay inside." 

For a few seconds, everyone was silent. 

"Well," Draco said brightly, even as his arm tightened supportively around Harry, "it should be interesting to see your recklessness curbed for a day or two."

"And you didn't 'drag us' in here," Ginny said. "It's voluntary."

"I didn't see any kicking and screaming," Cornelia agreed. "Some interesting absences, though."

"Caradog said he wouldn't be any good," Hannah said, "though I don't think that's true, and Gilbert sent a message with Linnet." 

"Though I'll certainly be having a talk with _my_ lad," Parvati said, scowling. 

"Oh, he and I agreed we'd talk later," Harry explained hastily. "And Mill's probably still with Hagrid." 

"Hagrid?" Padma asked, her nose wrinkling. 

"They have an independent study." 

She shuddered. Harry found that he was breathing a little more freely. It did feel safer to have so many friends near him. 

"Well, what do we do, then?" Neville asked. "Talk it out?" 

"There's not much more to say." 

"But tomorrow is a Friday, so it shouldn't be too much like that." 

"True," Susan said, "but I think it would be good to stay together for a while. We could study, or talk, or play quiet games." 

"Really the Uncommon Room," Ginny agreed. 

"Exactly." 

"I think I'll head out, then," Blaise said awkwardly. "Have an essay to finish." 

"You could work on it here," Hermione coaxed. 

"No -- really not feeling well." 

Draco's nails dug into Harry's shoulder as Blaise fled, and Harry gave as much of a nod as he dared with Hermione there. There was a bit of noise in the corridor, and Millicent came in. 

"Trouble?" she asked, looking around. 

"Over here," Harry said. "Everyone else has heard." He sent Draco a look. "Later," he whispered.

"I've been worried all lesson. Hagrid said it would wait; that you weren't in trouble, or danger that you hadn't been the night before."

"True enough, but I've been in rather more danger the last twenty-four hours than before that. My aunt's gone missing." 

"Thought you didn't like her." 

"I don't, but Dumbledore's worried they'll curse me through her -- you know, the way I said they couldn't with, um--" 

"Right." They'd talked about that on Sunday. Millicent hauled up an ottoman in front of the couch and plopped down on it. In other parts of the room, people had begun to talk quietly. Padma was pulling things out of her school bag. "Well, that's crap," she said sympathetically. "The headmaster came down to tell you?" 

"And to bring me back to his office by Floo. I've been told to stay in until they find her." 

"How does that help?" 

"In case Death Eaters catch her and cast a family curse of clumsiness or bad luck or something like that -- there's less that can happen if I'm in here." He grimaced. "In theory." He couldn't help but recall that the basilisk, Barty Crouch, and Quirrell had all been within these walls. 

"No visiting Slytherin, then. Nott might try something." 

"Good point." 

"Stay clear of Pansy, too. She's been spending more time with him, despite your talk." 

Harry looked over at Draco, who shrugged. 

"It might be subterfuge," he said, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. "She's avoiding me, but it seems too abrupt to be real." 

Harry shook his head. "Fine. It's not like I'm relying on her for anything." 

"Good," Millicent said. She looked over at Cornelia. "Look after him for me, will you?"

"Oh, none of that," Harry protested. 

"Just in Gryffindor." 

"I have plenty of people looking after me in Gryffindor. Too many, sometimes." 

"That's because you attract even more trouble than you cause," Hermione complained. She stood. "Thank you for including me, Harry, but I really do need to go to the library. Professor Sinistra wants five sources for today's assignment." 

Harry expected her departure to lead to more -- certainly, not everyone could want to be here -- but the others stayed. Most people were studying, but Parvati, Hannah, and Linnet were playing some sort of card game. He sat back against Draco and read his Transfiguration assignment, and felt more content than he would have believed possible an hour earlier. 

 

"Hi," Harry said, coming breathlessly into the dormitory. Seamus was reading on his bed, and Dean sitting at his desk with a quill out. Both stood. "Sorry -- got sidetracked." 

"Is Hermione going to report me?" Dean asked. 

"I don't think so." Harry felt a shiver of uncertainty. "I told her not to, but we didn't talk more about it; she left to go to the library." He thought. She might have.... "Wait. Dumbledore is away -- he told me he was leaving -- and I bet McGonagall will be busy. I'll catch her after dinner." 

"Dumbledore told you he was leaving the school?" Seamus asked skeptically. 

"After coming and fetching me from Hagrid's, because he didn't want me outside," Harry explained. "My aunt's vanished -- they've been trying to protect her, but she gave her guards the slip because she hates magic -- magical people." 

Seamus frowned. "And that's not good riddance to bad rubbish?" 

"Not if Voldemort catches her and casts a blood curse -- though Dumbledore and Snape and Hecksban all agree they couldn't directly kill me that way. They might be able to do something indirect -- mess up my balance or something -- okay in the library; possibly fatal on a broom." 

"Oh. Thus keeping you inside."

"Right. Not that I haven't run into dangerous things in here." 

Dean scowled. "Sorry." 

"I was thinking of a _Basilisk_ , actually." 

"Oh." 

"Look, as far as I'm concerned, that's over with, and I'll do what I can about Hermione."

"Thanks. It's decent of you." 

"Did you get a good response?" Seamus asked.

"Yeah. It looked like a Friday with no food." 

"You're going to be mysterious, aren't you?" Dean complained. 

"For now," Seamus answered cheerily. "If you'd been decent last spring, you'd know by now." 

"This is my punishment." 

"This is your _consequences_. I can't make people trust you; didn't trust you myself in September, and we've been best mates for years."

"Mm." 

"Let's get dinner," Harry urged, wanting to leave the matter behind. "I'm starving." 

 

He was glad he'd studied in the afternoon, because his evening was all conferences. Blaise wasn't at dinner, so that was out, and Snape, unsurprisingly, sent a terse note canceling that night's detention, but talking to Hermione took over half an hour, during which they argued in circles about practical, ethical, and emotional factors of forgiving Dean, and he was unable to extract a promise from her. He'd no sooner gone out into the Common Room than Ginny nabbed him with a request for a talk, and then it was back to the fourth floor and the now-quiet chamber in the hidden passage. 

"Is something wrong?" he asked, when the door had closed behind them, her new password -- _diary_ \-- on it. 

"I've been trying to get you alone since Sunday," she complained. "You were gone all afternoon, and I had a group project due Tuesday, and then you had detention -- what did Snape catch you at, anyway?"

"Unauthorized brewing," he answered. "And that's all you're getting." 

"Did you actually buy Sphinx feathers, or did they come in one of those packages from my brothers?"

That hit far too close. "I did. Knockturn Alley, over the summer." 

"For what?" 

"Divination." He bit his lip. "We didn't have formulas then -- Draco just sent me a list of things that might be useful and that he couldn't get by owl order." 

"I see." 

"Is that what we're here for?"

"No." She leaned back against the buffet shelf. "Something about you having 'five times the chance' to kill Tom Riddle that Sirius would?" 

"Oh, that." He wasn't sure what to say. Sometime in the last two years, Ginny had become very good at looking unimpressed. 

"Right. Er, this is a secret. I mean, _I_ didn't even find out until ... less than a year ago. I figured out that some people who ought to have sense thought I was the one who would defeat him, and I confronted Dumbledore, who explained why, and I got more from Remus and Sirius later." He paused. 

"I won't pass it on," Ginny said. "I'm good at secrets." 

"I know." He gestured at the comfy sofa. "Let's sit down." 

They sat facing each other, arm rests at their backs. She waited. He nodded. 

"When my mother was pregnant with me, she and my dad and three of their friends -- Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew -- came up with a plan. They were each going to give me their chance of killing him."

"That's ridiculous." 

"Well, it's fuzzy. But you _can_ manipulate luck -- think of Felix Felicis. This was just a very specific sort of luck."

"And this needed his blood?"

"No. They weren't counting on just the luck -- after all, they didn't think the five of them together could definitely kill him. They also gave me a sense of his magical energy, with the idea I could learn to turn it against him."

"And that's why people who know about this think that it worked. You lived." 

"Sort of. Professor Dumbledore thinks that I lived because of my mother's sacrifice. But that V- Tom was left helpless -- that was probably a frightened toddler shoving his energy back at him." 

"That sounds completely insane. If they could do this, why not do it to Dumbledore? 

"I asked that too. It's not the sort of thing you can do to an adult, or even a baby, or even in the last months of pregnancy. The later, the riskier, Sirius said." 

She shrunk back. For a moment, her gaze lost focus. 

"Womb work," she said finally. "Dumbledore let them? That's frightfully dangerous and has been illegal since the Gremlin Children of 1824." 

Harry wondered if he wanted to know. It might be better not to. "They confessed to Dumbledore later. They regretted it before I was born, apparently. Remus has actually used this to caution me against being too clever with my plots." 

"Okay." She spent a while fidgeting with her hair -- dragging it between her fingers and studying the spread-out strands. "So, how much use will this be?" 

"I'm not sure. Snape is trying to teach me energy redirection, but he can't do it himself, of course. Most of the sources are hearsay, and I know some of them are rot -- at are least, don't match what I can do." 

"I thought you needed Vo- Tom's energy." 

"I can work with Morsmodre from Snape, if he has the Dark Mark bare." 

She twitched. "Right. So you're mad, but you're supposed to be." She frowned. "Snape knows too?" 

"Snape seems to know a lot of things. When my parents were dead, and Pettigrew supposed to be, and Sirius in jail -- and that betrayal meant Voldemort prob--" 

"Tom." 

"Right. Tom probably knew what they'd done -- Dumbledore decided the secret couldn't stay with just him and Remus, because they might both die before I was old enough to be told. So he told a few other people, one of them Snape. Moody knows too -- Snape says he had assumed that was why he was demonstrating Unforgivables to fourth years; to familiarize me with the energy."

Ginny's eyes had grown wide. "You ought to be terrifying," she said. "How did you manage to be normal?" 

"I've been thinking," Harry said, "that it's a really targeted ability. And for most of my childhood, he didn't really exist. I wasn't even around other magic. Snape thinks of that as a setback, but I wonder if it might not have helped. Maybe Professor Dumbledore had a point, leaving me with Muggles -- though sending me back for summers seems rather useless." 

She snorted. "He wants time for his studies, I expect. We read one of his recent articles in Arithmancy, and I can imagine that Hogwarts might be a touch dangerous during the summer. There was a humorous aside about how the roof of the West Tower was overdue for replacement anyway." 

 Harry laughed. "Never thought about what he does during summers." 

"Charlie said he had a mating pair of Chinese Fireballs here one summer about ten years ago, to study glyphs in the courting flight. It's legendary among the dragon keepers, because _no one_ gets permits for that in Britain -- except, apparently, Albus Dumbledore." 

 

Harry had planned to catch Blaise after Cursebreaking on Friday, but Hecksban handed back his essay last, and when he had finished with his comments, Blaise was gone. 

_After the evening meeting_ , Harry told himself. If Blaise ducked out early, he'd leave then too, even if it looked odd. People could make up whatever story they wanted to. 

 

Following an earlier request from Draco, he arrived at the Uncommon Room while dinner was still in progress. He had thought he was there to help with setup, but everything looked ready. Draco seemed edgy as he showed off the newest sofa, an enormous footed crystal bowl of trifle, and long, thin platters of candied citrus. A an artfully crumpled imperial purple tablecloth set off the bright white porcelain of the platters and dessert plates. 

"Nice," Harry approved. "Purple because it's no one's house color?" 

"And far better than orange," Draco agreed. He took a quick breath, let it out, cleaned under his nails, and then added another scrunch to the cloth. 

"I've been trying to catch Blaise alone," Harry said, guessing at what Draco might want to say. "I just haven't had any luck."

"Of course you haven't!" Draco snapped. "He's either on dust or hiding!"

Harry swallowed. 

"I apologize," Draco said. "It's only been that bad the last few days, and the tiredness may mean he's trying to do less of it. You do need to talk to him, though." 

"I'll try after the meeting." 

Draco shook his head. "Tomorrow would be better. I'll help maneuver him out of the dormitory if needed." He hesitated again. 

"Was that it?" Harry asked. 

"Pardon?"

"What do you keep trying to say?" 

"Oh." Draco looked chastened. "I -- No, that's rather different. It's foolish, really, but you've said you won't wait for me while I'm married. Would you, if I married someone who agreed to a divorce after the birth of our second child? There must be women in a similar position to my own, and I could put a time limit on it. It wouldn't be so long." 

For a moment, Harry couldn't think at all. The idea was both disturbing and a large concession. 

"I... That feels too weird to even think about. And rough on the kids, don't you think?" 

"Maybe less so if they're young. Devary's parents are amicably divorced. He was saying it was difficult for him -- he was nine -- but his little brother just thinks it's normal."

Harry raked a hand through his hair, trying to imagine returning to Draco when he was in his late twenties. "I just don't see -- I couldn't promise that." 

"Why not?" Draco demanded. 

"It seems ... wrong. And look. We're seventeen. We have no idea what it's like to have a relationship outside of school." That was it, he realized. "It might not even work."

"I see." Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "So whilst I am heartsick over this, you are not certain that you love me after all." 

"Yes, I am!" Harry ran a hand forward through his hair. "Of course I love you! I just don't know if we could _manage_ it -- the practical parts -- out in the world. I mean, I might want to learn to cook without Aunt Petunia dictating terms, and you might want all your meals to be elaborate House Elf creations. I might want a dog that can jump on the sofa. You might have a dozen sofas that are all priceless heirlooms, at least one of which vaporizes dogs." To his relief, Draco's grim expression actually broke at that. Harry smiled anxiously back. "You'll want your manor, and I might want a flat in a town, where I can meet people when I walk to the park, or the local, or to a grocer's for the paper."

Draco stepped towards him. "And we might, you realize, find reasonable compromises to all those things, even were they all true." 

"Or we might not. And I don't even _know_ if any of those things are true! I lived in a cupboard, and then a locked room, and then at a school -- the best, most wonderful place I've ever lived, but it's still a _school_. My life here is still controlled. I don't know what I want -- what I'll like -- out in the world." 

Slowly, Draco nodded. "Yes. I can see where a union of choice could be more complex in that way. My parents negotiated domestic spaces, more than activities." He looked off at into the ivy. "And while my life has held more expansive vistas than yours -- I have traveled to at least a dozen countries -- it was tightly constrained in other aspects. Still, we did well in this space, did we not?" He looked back. "And you enjoyed the manor, I believe. We are both capable of some flexibility." 

"Right. And I _expect_ that it would be great. But I don't think either of us can _promise_ that, from here, especially after years apart." He stepped closer, tentatively placing a hand on Draco's back. "I _do_ love you." 

Draco shifted back, letting Harry slide the hand around him and pull him close. "I know. Sometimes, I wish we--" He broke off. 

"Yes?" Harry asked, nuzzling his hair. 

"Actually, I'd _hate_ being nobody. But I can see advantages to it." 

Harry laughed. "That's why I liked Muggle London. I got to be nobody, and just kick around. Then I could come back." 

"Mm. We could have the manor _and_ a city flat .. but on the Floo network." 

Harry thought he should remind him not to talk like that, but it was a marvelous fantasy. He was trying to decide, when Draco turned to kiss him. That was much simpler.

 

When they heard the door open, they had to pull apart, and quickly settle robes over clothes that were not quite in place. Harry was pleased with the bright pink of Draco's cheeks, even as he could feel the heat in his own. 

"I do hope I'm not interrupting," Gilbert drawled. He set himself down on the newest sofa, one in Slytherin green velvet, and smirked. "Or at least that you can't admit I am." 

"Whatever would you be interrupting?" Draco said loftily. 

"The mind boggles." 

"Hello!" Susan called out, as she came in. "Am I first?" 

"Not quite," Gilbert answered as she turned the corner. 

"I'm second!" she said brightly, claiming the seat nearest him on the adjoining sofa. "The hosts don't count." 

"It's not our room," Draco objected. 

"You always handle refreshments. That makes you a host." 

Others were arriving now. Some people set bags where they wanted to sit first, while others went straight to the food. Harry watched contentedly while they greeted each other and settled. When the last person had sat (it was Caradog today), Harry stood up and clapped his hands twice, like a professor about to start a lesson. 

"All right, everyone. Business first. I have some announcements, and then we can debate suggestions for new members."

A chorus of agreement greeted this. 

"A quick one first. We did a test of the yellow Signal bead yesterday, as I hope you all know, and a lot of people showed up. Some others were busy, which was fine; it wasn't urgent. However, Gilbert had an interesting suggestion -- he asked that there be a second summons if he was needed. I think that would be a good method generally. So one signal -- any color -- would mean a few people would do, so come if it's convenient -- with two meaning the caller would like as many people as possible, and three an actual emergency."

"What if you don't get a chance to do three signals?" Ginny asked. "I mean, if it's an emergency."

"We could do it the other way," Susan suggested. "If you get only one signal, it's urgent." 

"Is answering still optional?" Gilbert asked. 

"Yes," Harry answered. "No one needs to attend." He held up his hands. "Think about it. We'll decide later in the evening. 

"Now. Who else was questioned in the staff inquiry?" 

Susan and Linnet burst out laughing, but most people looked confused. Luna, Millicent, and Gilbert raised their hands along with Susan and Linnet. 

"Wait," Harry objected. "I thought it was one person per house." 

Draco snorted. "As if Snape would stick to that. I bet he applied some logic to it too." 

"What are you talking about?" Parvati objected. 

"The beads." Harry held his arm up. " Professor McGonagall questioned me about mine. Apparently there's some sort of rumor that each represents a certain _act_. When I told her about my yellow one for getting in trouble for accidental magic, she said that had been presented to her as--" he cleared his throat and tried to pitch his voice up-- "'a Hufflepuff conquest.' Or maybe something worse." 

Cornelia examined her string with great suspicion. "I've done it with an American?" 

Caradog leaned over. "They probably assumed a Frenchman." 

"Wait. Did she actually believe this?" Ginny demanded. 

Harry grinned. "She may have said something about hysteria about young people's fashions." 

That caused another round of tight laughter. 

"Professor Sprout called me in on Monday," Susan offered. "'Now, dear, I'm sure it's nothing, but you understand I must ask...'" 

Several people whooped. 

"What did you tell her?"

"Oh, that I could explain any two of her choice." 

"And she picked?" 

"The pink -- my Gryffindor light -- and the spotted one. I said, 'oh, that means I think I would have been all right as a Gryffindor, and that's that I'd like a Crup when I have my own place,' and she practically fell over laughing and told me I was a fine girl and should definitely get a Crup." 

"Professor Snape was far more methodical," Linnet said, once the hilarity at Susan's tale had died down. "He asked me and Gilbert both about the bronze bead -- for full marks on something I thought was incomplete -- and the red and gold bead that was for using a house affiliation as an insult." 

Millicent hrmphed. "I don't have that bronze one. Got asked about that Gryffindor colored one, though, and then the Kelly green that Linnet and Gilbert don't have -- the one for Patrick's Pitch Pointers." 

"That's probably why it didn't progress to Blaise and me," Draco said. "With those, he would already have confirmed that the answers were consistent and trivial."

"Luna?" Harry asked. 

"I think my questioning was different," Luna said quietly. "Instead of asking about particular beads, Professor Flitwick asked what could I tell him."

"Comes out the same in the end," Ron scoffed. 

"No," she said. "The signal beads aren't under the secrecy charm, as they're not part of the game." 

"So you volunteered information?" Ginny demanded indignantly. 

"Why not? I said they were for calling friends together. That's a perfectly lovely thing, you know." She cocked her head to the side. "I think he may have assumed that the house colors called members of that house, but you can't explain everything."

"You still shouldn't have." 

"I did too, sort of," Harry said. 

"You!" 

"Professor McGonagall noticed they were charmed, of course, and she asked what they did." He recalled his answer. "No, she asked what they were _for_."

"And your answer, darling?" Draco asked, smiling. 

"So that I'll have help when I need it." 

"Oh, bravo. She approved." 

"Nodded and moved on, yes. I only told her about one bead. I wasn't going to try a second, because I'd given some general information and thought I might be hitting the limits of the charm."

"General information?" 

"Well, she wanted to know what green meant. I told her it didn't mean anything in particular; that the person you got the bead from chose the color." 

"I'm surprised you managed that much," Blaise said. 

"It wasn't all at once." 

"Probably more Harry than a defect in the charm," Draco said to Blaise. "Luna, did you answer for two beads?" 

"Yes," she said. "I told him it was the charm limit, and that he should pick." She giggled. "He now knows that I've sometimes written perfectly brilliant essays that were never assigned, and that I've cooked my own food." 

Sophia nodded. "He picked things that all the Ravenclaws had. A good strategy." 

"We should play tonight and add new designs!" Linnet said, to enthusiastic agreement. 

"Members first, though," Harry said, sitting down. "I'd like to extend to fifth years."

"Newcomers don't get signal beads," Ron said. "Not right away, at least." 

"Wise," Draco agreed.

"And fifth years... it makes sense, sort of, but I like that we can be racy," Sophia said. 

"We know," Padma answered. 

"What if we reserve after ten for the older members?" 

"Maybe. Or every other week?"

"They wouldn't get to know us then, though. Not like we do each other." 

"Are there actually fifth-years that we want?"

"From Slytherin, yes. Julian Devary." 

Susan, who was also a prefect, nodded. "He seems nice." 

"Anyone else?" Harry asked. "Okay, how about sixth and seventh years?" 

"Dean Thomas," Seamus said. 

"I doubt we can trust him," Draco said. 

"I think we can," Harry said, "and I know him better." 

"There are five Gryffindor boys," Ron argued. "Doesn't do much good to leave out one." 

"That worked so well for Harry's father," Draco said bitingly. 

Harry found himself glancing quickly among the people who would understand this. 

"I understand the concern," he said finally. "Draco, you and I should discuss it privately. Does anyone else object if we decide to say yes?" 

He expected Hermione to speak up, but she sat back. It was Gilbert who responded. "Before I agree," he said, "may I know why this is a dispute between you?" 

"Because Dean and I were on the outs last year," Harry said.

"Because he was vicious about your homosexual attractions." 

Harry sighed. "It was bad before that though, because it was _you_. He felt betrayed that I was chumming around with a pureblood who'd given him crap. And a childhood friend of his died in the London attacks, which you were awful about. The gay stuff was just something to hang it on." 

Seamus nodded. "One where a couple of seventh years heartily agreed, I think. No explanations needed. Grief is a tricky bog." 

Draco huffed. "Then the three of us will discuss the matter in private, and I will trust Harry to decide once the row has passed. Any others?" 

"We'd talked about Sajid," Harry said. 

"That would need to be with Dean, not instead," Seamus objected. "Otherwise, you're taking another friend of his away."

"Anyone else?" Harry asked. 

"Lisa Turpin," Sophia suggested.

"Carla Jenkins," Caradog said. "She is a fifth year, but a Quidditch player, you know, so used to older students."

"Justin and Ernie want to know where I go," Hannah said. "I'm not suggesting them for membership, but could we have some sort of gathering, somewhere, and invite other people, so they can see us together? 

"Let's try to focus," Draco said. "But it's something to consider and revisit in a week or two." 

"Maybe a picnic in the spring?" 

"Have you told them about a bead or two? Maybe they've heard these rumors as well." 

 

In the end, with only two fifth years under consideration, they decided no schedule changes were needed, that two signals would be more urgent than one, and that they would have a short meeting on Monday night for final decisions on proposed members. Those items settled, the members of the Uncommon Room began the important work of adding to everyone's beads.


	48. A Rat Abroad

_48 -- A Rat Abroad_

 

On Saturday afternoon, Harry, Draco, and Ron, with Ginny and Hermione as observers, met for a divination about Peter Pettigrew -- or (as Harry was currently trying to think of him) Scabbers. 

"I'm not sure I can do this with people watching," Ron complained. 

Ginny sniffed. "I'm not sure you can do it at all." 

"Excuse me," Draco said. "We agreed that you could be here, which is itself a hindrance, as your brother pointed out. Do not make it an active one." 

Harry kept a hand protectively around the stunned mouse in his pocket. He was afraid he would forget about it and crush it if he let go. For the sake of familiarity, he was across a low table from Ron, as in previous attempts. They were back to sitting on cushions on the floor; he thought Draco hadn't wanted to remind any of them of the last scrying. Hermione and Ginny were on the closest couch -- Hermione with parchment and quill out, Ginny with her arms crossed over her chest and her chin down. Draco had claimed a chair, but was out of it now, passing a flask of the scrying liquid to Ron. 

"I still don't have anything to be Scabbers," Ron complained. "I mean, represent him." 

"Don't worry about that," Draco said. "I have an idea. Just go ahead." 

With a huff, Ron uncapped the flask and poured out the shimmering liquid. It still caught his attention, but not as fully as before -- he glanced up at the girls while it was spilling out. When he looked down again, Harry took the mouse from his pocket and tapped it with his wand, casting a glamour on it, so that a mangy rat appeared to be spilling out of his hand. 

"Ron," he said. 

"Hm?" Ron was entranced by the potion now. That was a good sign. 

"I have a focus for you. Not the real thing, but ..." He encased the ersatz rat in a globular shield spell. "Look." 

"Gah!" Ron said. "Um, no." He shook his head, more like a dog repelling water than like someone saying no. "It's the wrong rodent anyway. Sunflower seed hulls would be better." 

"Ron! We asked you twenty times--!" 

Draco cut Hermione off with "hush." 

"But--"

"He didn't know then," Draco said at a soothing near-whisper. Harry summoned Dobby, and released the restored mouse. After a few seconds of panicked immobility, it shot away into the ivy-covered pile of rubble, vanishing just as Dobby returned with a bowl full of sunflower seeds. "Thanks," Harry said cheerily, pretending not to notice Hermione's glare, and after taking a handful of the seeds, put the bowl on the couch behind him, next to Ginny. Quickly, he cracked four of them and held the hull halves to Ron. "Do you want to add them, or shall I? 

Ron waved at the bowl. "Dump them. I never had any control over that." 

Nodding, Harry tossed the hulls on the water like he was rolling dice, and they spun and settled. One caught water and sunk, but the rest remained floating. Ron blew on them, and they bobbed and turned in the ripples. 

"One year," he said, "we went to the seashore for a week. It was really exciting and fun, and then the second morning I woke up with dragon pox and had to stay in Bill and Charlie's room by myself, every day all week, with people laughing and having fun outside my window, and the smell of the sea in the air."

Harry looked over at Ginny. She was rolling her eyes. 

"Scabbers feels like that," Ron declared. "Here he is in Majorca -- and he's always wanted to go there -- stuck as a rat hiding under huge metal bins. All the best-smelling things have poison in them." 

Ginny was staring. 

"He went up to the roof to breathe and look at the sea, but Crabbe threatened to report him." 

Ron looked up and frowned at his sister. "Like you did, when--" he stopped. "Sorry. I lost track." He looked back at the seed hulls. "That's really -- they're just sitting there. I think that's all I'll get." He blinked, and then covered his eyes for a moment. "That rubbish bin was really-- Maybe just because he's a rat?" He frowned at Harry. "Do Muggles have metal rubbish bins the size of -- twice our broom shed?" 

Hermione looked up, startled, and met Harry's eyes. 

"Outside?" he asked neutrally.

"Yeah. On that sort of hard road they have, but up against a wall, and everything covered with old grease."

"Businesses have those," Harry said grimly. 

"A restaurant, maybe?" Hermione asked. 

"Oh, that's it! He's looking for something around restaurants." 

Harry stood up. "Thanks, Ron. That's been really helpful. I need to talk to Snape." 

"Professor Snape?" Hermione challenged. "Not Professor McGonagall?"

Harry looked at Draco. 

"My spellfather knows Harry intended to try divination." 

"And Professor Dumbledore approved consulting with him on some things," Harry added.

"And you _urgently_ need to tell a professor that Peter Pettigrew is touring Spanish restaurants as a rat?" 

"I need to tell someone who's looking for my aunt," Harry corrected. "That's just where she'd go! Ginny, look after your brother for a little while? He may be slightly loopy for ten minutes or so. Oh, and--" Snapping his hand open from fist to fingers, he Vanished the potion. "Draco, let's go." 

Ron was covering his eyes again. "You're so weird now." 

"Wha--" He had forgotten to draw his wand. "Oh, sorry." 

 

They took the front stairs for once, bounding down each flight, and whipping around the corners. In the Entrance Hall, they turned off the bottom step and found themselves facing Snape, who was striding towards them. With only a moment's uncertainty, he pivoted back to the dungeon staircase. "Potter, Malfoy -- follow me."

Harry wondered if they were in trouble -- and for what -- but they passed the door to the potion master's office, and went on to his private rooms. He ushered them in and closed the heavy door. 

"I do hope I haven't interrupted the day's entertainment," he sneered.

Harry and Draco looked at each other. 

"We were coming to see you, actually," Harry said bluntly, sending Snape's eyebrows into a disbelieving rise. 

"In such a hurry?" 

Draco tsked and sat regally in an armchair. "Yes, spellfather. We were tremendously impatient for your charming--" 

"We did another divination," Harry interrupted. "Scabbers -- that is, Peter Pettigrew -- is in Spain -- Majorca -- as a rat, on his master's orders." 

Snape stared. "Why would you be doing divination for _that_? I thought you were to focus on the Dark Lord." 

"Yes, but it's Ron," Harry explained. "Doing our divination, I mean. And since Scabbers was his rat -- well, sometimes things with us end up in there too."

Snape sniffed. "And you have done these divinations with what? Crystal balls and incense?"

"We have used three variations of blood ritual, Spellfather, and one without."

Snape turned on Harry. "You did _not_ use the seer's." 

"Actually, we did."

"You convinced Ronald _Weasley_ to do a divination with _your blood_ , for _payment_?" 

Harry couldn't help feeling a bit smug at his astonishment. "Yes." 

"You are a frightening boy, Potter." 

His smugness vanished. "Well, Draco helped." 

"Will it do him any harm?" Draco questioned. "From what I could determine, the effects should be temporary."

"Certainly, as long as he doesn't do it repeatedly." Snape looked keenly at Harry. "If you care for him, as I believe you do, you might not want to risk more than two attempts this year. You will recall how we apparated away from within the seer's house, and why." 

'Right," Harry said, shuddering. "Well, we're done with it anyway; Hermione found out." 

"Which was why this last divination was without blood," Draco put in. "And thus less constrained." 

"Ah. But you have reason to believe the results?" 

"There was very little blood in the first ritual," Harry said. "Just a few drops, but he predicted Nott would murder someone that night, and he did." 

"Which had nothing to do with the blood," Draco pointed out.

"Except that he was talking about Voldemort's orders." 

"Yes, exactly." Draco turned to Snape. "Much of the formal divination has not been useful, but when he is in that state, his side comments have all been frighteningly accurate." He scowled at Harry. "Except for that one about girls and boys--" 

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" 

He saw comprehension flash across Draco's face, and was sorry he had said anything. They couldn't have Snape probing about that. As Millicent's head of house, he would need to put a stop to it.

Draco laughed nervously. "Oh, of course." 

" _Do_ tell," Snape urged silkily. 

"Oh, you don't want to know," Draco replied, with false lightness. "We got a bit kinky that's all. And I'd quite forgotten -- telling Harry his boy was his best girl -- I'd just been offended at the time." 

Harry could feel his face flooding with heat. At least it should cover his astonishment at the lie. "Draco...."

"Well, _you've_ no reason to be embarrassed." Draco was also blushing, the highest points of his cheeks bright scarlet. "Anyway, more than enough of that! Let us simply say that we are inclined to believe him -- Pettigrew is in Spain -- Majorca -- on the Dark Lord's orders, and living as a rat there."

"Possibly skulking around restaurants trying to find the Dursleys," Harry added. Snape, smirking, had turned away and was adjusting his jar of Floo powder.

"And Mr. Crabbe is there," Draco asked. 

Snape turned sharply at that. "Crabbe." 

"Oh, yeah -- Ron said Crabbe had threatened to tell about something -- breaking form, or leaving his post; I wasn't sure."

"So." Snape frowned. "I must take this more seriously." 

"Excuse me?" Draco asked. 

"As it happens, I was on my way upstairs not by chance, but to find Mr. Potter." He looked at Harry. "You may recall suggesting, last term, that I remind Narcissa of the threat Nott poses to her son, in hopes of gaining information."

Draco looked between them. "She wouldn't know much at this point, what with the company she's been keeping." 

"Not entirely true. Among others, Gertrude Crabbe still contacts her socially, despite some political tension. She was visibly upset during a Floo call, and your mother invited her through, for tea and comfort. During that, she confessed that her husband had been sent out of the country on a mission, and she was afraid for his life after Howell Parkinson's death."

"Oh." 

"I'm sure she thought that sufficiently vague to be harmless. She is less subtle than some." He gestured Draco to stand. "We will discuss the other divinations later. For now, I must use my grate." 

"We can't stay?" 

"No." Snape gestured towards the door. "I still have my secrets. As consolation, be assured that I will be unable to catch you at mischief for several hours. Harry, you know to speak to Gerard Hecksban about any pain, correct?"

"Yes, sir." 

"Good." 

 

Outside the door, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that's settled! Let's go down to--" He stopped, remember his current vulnerability. 

"Not _my_ house."

"I'd been thinking the lake, but still no." 

Draco pressed up against him. "We could go to our clubhouse."

"I think that's an excellent idea." 

 

Sunday, Draco was brewing with Millicent. Harry had been planning to risk the short walk, but Millicent had told him not to be an idiot, and Draco, once she asked him, had pointed out that the hazard was not just the walk on the grounds; if both of them were taken out in the privacy of the tunnel, it would be hours before anyone missed them. It was sensible, but the change in schedule had Harry at loose ends. While wandering around feeling useless, he came into the entrance hall and saw Blaise crossing to the stairs. 

"Hey," he said, catching up, "have time for a talk?" 

Blaise twitched back. "I was on my way to the library." 

"A little detour, then." 

Blaise rubbed his forehead. "Look," he said, his voice low, "I know what you'll--" He looked up and down the stairs. No one was near, but there was no telling about the corridors off the landings. "All right. I only have a few minutes, though." 

After going through the mirror, he stopped in the narrow passage. "This is far enough."

"Yeah, okay." Harry would have been more comfortable sitting down. "So, I think you've been using the Gargoyle dust too much, and--"

"Yes," Blaise said. "And I have the headache to prove it. So I need to go study now -- unless you'll get me more?"

"Of course not! I shouldn't have got it for you then, but I was being an idiot, and I thought you could take care of yourself." 

Blaise scowled. "And I can." 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry leaned back against the hard wall. "So you'll stop taking it all the time?" 

"It wasn't _all_ \--" Blaise let out a sharp breath. "Yeah. I have barely enough left for NEWTs... so, yeah." 

"All right, then." Harry nudged him. "Sorry." 

Blaise shrugged. "It's what I asked for." He glanced over his shoulder at the door. "Sorted?"

"I guess. Do you want help wi--"

"NO." Blaise closed his eyes for a moment. "Sorry. Having anyone around me just makes it harder. I'll see you on Friday." 

Without even checking the corridor, he ducked out of the room and headed back to the stairs. Harry told himself it was okay; they'd talked, and it was done. 

 

Despite all that was going on, school days felt normal -- lessons were easy, or difficult, or boring, and assignments took a lot of time. Except for Cursebreaking and Symbology, each class now had at least one lesson a week focused on a checklist of past points that might be on the N.E.W.T.s. On Tuesday, when Snape approached their table at the end of Potions, Harry was hoping it might be about his aunt, but it was Draco that Snape wanted to speak to. ("Come by my rooms after dinner to retrieve your Pensieve. Despite what your mother apparently believes, I am _not_ a delivery boy.") 

 

"Hey." Ron slipped into the seat next to Harry. It was Wednesday after dinner, which Professor Hecksban declared would be the time for the Pensieve study. The professor had arranged the chairs on a temporary dais in a half circle around the cursed object, and Draco was pacing at the back of the space he was sharing with the Cursebreaker. "Think it will be exciting?" 

"I'm hoping not." 

A Ravenclaw sixth-year named Jonathan, who had managed to get into the Cursebreaking class through some arrangement with Flitwick, looked curiously over at them, but then went back to setting out his notes. Harry could see a large sketch of the Pensieve at the top of the page. Beyond him, Blaise was staring down at an empty parchment. 

Footsteps rang in the hallway, and Susan hurried in, pulling Justin Finch-Fletchley behind her. "Hello, Draco!" she called cheerily. 

Draco looked up and smiled, giving her a casual bow. "Susan. I'm glad you could make it. Good evening, Finch-Fletchley." 

Justin nodded curtly, not bothering to fake a smile. He thumped into a chair and sat back, arms crossed and legs out, reminding Harry of Draco's behavior after Harry had gone to Snape about the invitation from Narcissa. They should really do something about Justin, he thought; he wasn't a bad sort, really. Would Draco be better at talking to him than he would, or worse? 

While he was considering this, Hecksban returned with a satchel the yellow of lollipop lady's vest, and set it down behind the Pensieve. 

"Hello, everyone! Welcome to this week's supplementary Cursebreaking session. As I explained in yesterday's lesson, Mr. Malfoy is providing the cursed object -- a family Pensieve -- and will be doing the primary work of identifying and breaking the layered curses on it. I have reserved three weeks for this, and he may request assistance from others during the third session, if there is one. As he works, he will explain what he is doing and why. My role is to provide supervision and educational review; I will occasionally pause his work for discussion. You may leave at any time, but once you leave, you may not return, including to future sessions. Are there any questions?" When no one spoke up, he turned to Draco and nodded. "Please start with an explanation of how you noticed the object was cursed, and then repeat any preliminary work you did at home." 

Draco nodded and stepped forward. Harry thought he had been looking anxious, but as he set his shoulders back and raised his head, all traces of that fell away. 

"This was my father's pensieve," he said. "It always had some protections on it, as did other items that I was not to use unsupervised. However, sometime after my... defection, and before his trial, he appears to have set much stronger and more aggressive protections -- true curses -- on a few things of value. I believe he anticipated that these items might be confiscated by the Ministry." Draco hesitated. "However, it is also possible that he considered the prospect of a conviction, and, in that unlikely event, that I might inherit that which he felt I did not deserve." 

"Lovely," Justin muttered, but not loudly enough for Draco or the professor to hear. It seemed to be a spontaneous reaction. 

"Let's pause there," Hecksban said. "Is the intent of these curses significant?" 

A garble of affirmative replies was countered by Justin's vehement "no."

"Of course it matters!" Harry exclaimed. "If Draco was the intended target, the curse --"

"Will be _just_ as vicious as if aimed at a stranger!" Justin shot back. 

"But one of us might be safe," Jonathan argued.

"Unlikely," Draco said dryly. 

Blaise glanced at Draco, and then looked down. "The curses could be layered by time," he said. Harry watched people look at him expectantly. Blaise rubbed his forehead, hiding his face for a moment. "Instead of an overall strategy, I mean -- just one target on top of the previous, as circumstances changed."

"Might be fine for his mum, then," Ron offered. "Sorry -- mother." He frowned at the looks he was getting. "Since Lucius Malfoy wouldn't have been angry at her _before_ the trial, right?" 

"A supportable assertion," Draco said, nodding at him. "Again, I wouldn't take that wager at the cost." 

"But what if it _isn't_ against him?" Susan objected. "Then the curses may not hurt him at all. If his father wanted to keep the Ministry from any gain for a confiscation, but considered it unlikely, he might have incorporated a blood exemption, rather than having to lift the curses to use the device himself." 

"Draco?" Hecksban asked. 

" _All_ of that makes sense," Draco answered. He raised his hands in an elegant shrug. "And therein lies the problem. I do not know if these curses are less or more likely to harm me than to harm a stranger. To that extent, Justin is correct. The intent is significant in theory -- but in practice, of no value." 

"If we can identify the top curse," Harry said, "rather than just removing it, it might give us a clue." 

"Or it might be intended to mislead," Draco countered. He turned to Professor Hecksban. "However, I do believe it to be a worthwhile endeavor."

Hecksban nodded. "Agreed. Attempt it after showing your previous work." 

"Certainly," Draco said with a nod. He addressed the class. "As I explained, significant things in my father's office were routinely _lightly_ cursed against interference by others, and various other items had been cursed by this or that ancestor to repel or harm --" He paused, looking to Harry. "--anyone not entirely of known lines," he concluded.

"Oh, is _that_ how it works?" Justin said fiercely. "These things that are for 'pureblood' Wizards?" 

"Exactly," Draco responded, causing Justin to abruptly sit back. "It's not that the curse can recognize that Harry, for example, had a Muggleborn mother. It's that they _do not know_ his mother's line. An old enough curse might respond identically to an Egyptian pureblood ... not that I understood that until rather recently."

"Exactly!" Hecksban cheered. "As you, Draco -- and Ron there -- might find that you set off a 'purebloods only' curse in Senegal or China, or the Patil twins might here." 

"Oh!" Draco was wide-eyed with astonishment. "My father had Indian--"

"Frequent contact there came later. It would depend on the time of the casting."

"Right. Of course." Draco straightened. "So, when I wished to use the pensieve, I sent some basic diagnostic spells at it, like so." He cast two spells that they had learned in October at the empty pensieve. The first sparked orange from the center of the bowl, and the second crackled at the edges with indigo lines. "Guarded by some means, and you can clearly see the spikes of Dark Arts, but only at the edge, which was what first led me to suspect layering. I had already tested other items in the room, to determine which Harry should avoid, and several could just go to the attic -- or into the fire. However, I did not want to relinquish use of the Pensieve." 

He sent a second diagnostic at the Pensieve, tracing it along the rim. "This blurring here confirms a second layer. Knowing my father, I would not be surprised to find more below that." 

Hecksban nodded. "What's your next step?"

"I had thought to try the same diagnostics again, but with the base potion added."

"And you did not do this because...?" 

"Adding the potion might trigger the first curse." 

Hecksban nodded. "Good! It might. Now -- what measures could you take to protect yourself? Name two." 

Draco frowned. "I had thought I might float the potion over with a levitation spell. It should be stable enough to withstand that. I could combine that with a shield spell as soon as I dumped it in."

"Reasonable, but the shield spell might not be quick enough. What else?" 

Draco looked briefly uncertain, covering it with a slow and careless shrug. "I _could_ get a House Elf to pour it in, I suppose." 

"No," Harry said. 

"Oh, it would most likely survive. They're not as affected by Wizard magic as we are." Ignoring Harry's scowl, he smiled disarmingly at the Professor. "But it would offend Harry, which might cause more trouble than setting off the curse, at least with people around me to help." 

Hecksban's initial frown faded. "True. Does that suggest anything?"

Draco's brow creased. "You _cannot_ mean me to force someone else. That would be more harm yet."

"Draco. The point of curse breaking is not to prevent the curses from harming _you_. It is to prevent them from harming anyone." 

"Well, _yes_. So I don't see what else I can do. If adding the potion triggers it, I have no chance to siphon it off."  

"What precaution have you _already_ taken?"

Draco blinked. After a few seconds, his shoulders settled. "Oh! Having other competent witches and wizards to witness the attempt."

"Correct. Having other, competent, _informed and ready_ Cursebreakers as backup is often your very best defense. And I _know_ you know that, as that was your reasoning when you came to me -- don't lose track of the value of that action just because it is already done, or you may forget to take full advantage of it." He motioned at the Pensieve. "So, which is first? Adding the potion, or another attempt at identification?" 

"Identification," Draco answered. "To the extent possible." 

"Which is limited," Jonathan objected. 

"True." Professor Hecksban scanned the small group. "So how can it help? Susan?" 

Susan lowered her hand. "If we can determine the class, that might let us know if it's something we can undo," she said eagerly.

"Good. Blaise?" 

"Also if it's something that could affect us all."

Right. Harry?" 

"If it's an area spell, we might want to spread out more, at different distances."

"With shield spells," Justin added.

"Good thinking, both of you." Hecksban nodded at Draco. "Class and range -- see what you can get." 

 

After some rather tedious spellcasting, much of it repeated by the professor, Draco had concluded two things: the spell did not have an area effect, so it would land only on him if set off, and that the effect would be emotional or mental, and not too destructive. Concurring, Hecksban instructed everyone to stand ready, and gave Draco approval to add the Pensieve base potion. 

The effect was immediate. Fiery light surged up around the spilling liquid. Even Harry's shield spell missed the gap between the surge and Draco's hand, where it vanished like a torch thrown into the black lake. 

"Draco?" He started forward, stopping in frustration at Hecksban's upraised hand. The man was right, damn it! He could help better if he held back, but he wanted to have Draco in his arms, saying everything was all right. "Draco! Are you okay?" 

Draco shook himself slightly, and then laughed. "Fine! It didn't do anything; all drama." He raised his wand. Harry watched, wary that Draco might attack someone under the effects of the unknown curse; it took him a moment to realize that Draco was bringing the wand to his temple.

"No!" Harry's cry was joined by others. Susan jumped down from the dais. Vines shot out of Hecksban's wand and pulled Draco back into a chair, just as Harry's Disarming charm took his wand.

 "What is _wrong_ with you?" Draco protested, struggling against the bonds. "This is ridiculous!" 

"Is it?" Hecksban asked, as the class stared. "How so?"

Draco waved his arms. "This ... dawdling bibble-babble! We've wasted all evening. I should just set it off, and you can help me, if it's needed."

"If?" 

"As Susan said, it may not hurt me at all. He may have been displeased, but I'm his sole descendant. Well, as far as we know." Draco laughed. "The only one he's getting credit for, anyway. He wouldn't want the name to die out."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Eh." Draco shrugged. "That's what you're here for, right? And I'm not wrong. I was worried about Harry; _I'm_ not in any danger." 

Susan stretched forward. "Draco, I wouldn't be sure." 

"I am." 

"You wouldn't mind a few diagnostics on you then," Hecksban said casually.

"Of course I would!" Draco's chair lurched forward as he tried to stand, and then teetered dangerously. "Let me go!"

Darting forward, Harry blocked him, and then ducked around to hold him from behind. "Easy." 

"I'm not a baby!" 

"I know." The professor's first diagnostic spell shot up and down Draco's body, tingling along Harry's arms. 

"Stop him! Do you love me or don't you?" The second spiraled into and out of Draco's head, making his eyes glow briefly. 

"Of course I love you." Harry ignored Justin's huff, and the following sound of a light slap muffled by fabric. "That's why I'm helping our Professor see what's wrong with you." The third sent a bloom of spell-fire from his head. 

"Nothing!" Draco snapped. "Absolutely _nothing_. You always think you're _right_ , and you can get away with anything, just because I love you."

"Recklessness hex," Hecksban announced. 

"I'm not--" 

His mouth continued to move, but no sound came out. 

"Sorry, Draco. I need you muted to lift it. Be still, everyone." 

From a box behind him, Hecksban took a light-colored powder and tossed it over Draco, who flinched back. At a flick of Hecksban's wand, a tremor moved down his body, and each speck of dust flared bright and vanished, enveloping Harry in a hot, spicy scent. Draco gasped. 

"Okay there?" Harry asked. 

"Crap." With a shaky breath, Draco's head dropped back against Harry's chest. "I thought -- Yes, I have regained my normal facilities. You may release me, Professor. Thank you for your assistance."

"Would you mind a few diagnostics now?" Hecksban asked mildly.

"I suppose not. I do realize that was madness, however, and might have been fatal." 

"It was not madness," Hecksban corrected, repeating his earlier diagnostics, none of which appeared to have any effect at all. "It was a curse."

"Intended to make me set off the next one, as I nearly did," Draco snapped, as the vines about him dissolved. He stood, rubbing his arms. "Yes, understood."

"We knew it would do something," Susan broke in. Harry glared at her.  

"And that this gathering would protect me," Draco said testily. "All worked as planned." 

"Yet you seem upset," Professor Hecksban said. "You did not expect to resist a mental curse, I hope?"

"He's controlling me again!" Draco snapped. He took a deep breath. "Yes, I am upset. It's _irritating_ , when he's gone and I should be out of his reach. No, I do not feel I have failed or that your actions were inappropriate. However, I would like to move on to a soothing academic discussion, if we might?"  

Hecksban nodded. "There will be no further practical work today, so please take a seat for review." He nodded at the empty chairs at the end of the arc. Rather than returning to his seat between Ron and Jonathan, Harry took the chair by Blaise, where he could stay with Draco. The cuff of his robe fell over their joined hands. 

Hecksban cleared his throat, and sat in his typical place -- the front of the desk -- safely to the side of the cursed Pensieve. "So," he declared. "We have half an hour left of our allotted two. Let's use that to discuss what we've learned, and how it affects our next move. Any thoughts?" 

"Malfoy senior was vicious," Justin said. Susan shot him a hard look, as Draco turned a shudder to a shrug. 

"We knew that," Ron chided. "We're supposed to talk about what we learned."

"It's hard not to get in the way," Harry said. "We'd agreed he'd set it off, but I still tried to shield him."

Draco sniffed. "I believe we knew that as well."

"I have an observation," Susan said. At the professor's nod, she continued. "The spell showed the curse as not too destructive. That was both true and not." 

Blaise nodded. "The diagnostic gives an answer without context. The curse _in itself_ wasn't too destructive, but could have been fatal in practice."

"Good, both of you. So what do we learn from this?" 

Draco straightened. With a glance at Harry, he said, "the classification spells are useful, but no guarantee of safety. You should still have at least a partner present for the technique that we tried." 

"Exactly!" Hecksban beamed at them. "Now, why might the caster have ended with a Recklessness curse?"

"To make him set off the next one down." 

"To keep him from taking precautions." 

"The next one might be easy to identify." 

"Or clearly dangerous." 

They discussed the matter for some time, but Professor Hecksban held firm there would be no more practical work today -- not even diagnostic charms. At the end of the session, he allotted house points -- ten to Slytherin for Draco, and otherwise two for each student's house -- and they dispersed. It was too close to curfew for Harry to take Draco to the Uncommon Room for distraction or comfort, so they had to settle for lingering kisses in an alcove near the staircase before parting to go to their houses.  



End file.
